The Pawn in the Game
by alice.in.ink
Summary: Just when Brennan and Booth settle into a romantic relationship, Broadksy represents himself into their lives with a new target in mind: Booth. Because killing Booth would be too simple, Brennan is turned into a pawn in his game. Can Booth save her?
1. Two Months

"A slice of apple pie, please," Booth requested of the waiter. After solving another confusing case, Brennan and Booth settled into their ritual—a meal at the Royal Diner.

"Your fascination with fruit pie is still something that I cannot fully understand," Brennan commented as the waiter set off to retrieve the orders.

"You've just got to appreciate it- the burst of sweet apple, coated with crumbling crust, topped with pinches of brown sugar." He smiled contently after painting the picture in his mind. His mouth began to water just talking about his favorite food. "It's an American past time. Liking apple pie is like knowing that Michael Jackson was the King of Pop."

His partner's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I don't know what that means.

"Besides, if fruit was meant to be cooked, then evolution would suggest that the sun's UV rays would have strengthened over time and cooked the fruit by nature."

"Nah, then what would we humans do?" Booth smiled again as he caught sight of the waiter marching over with his pie and Brennan's order of fries.

When they received the food, they dug in. After a few moments of crunching, Brennan started a new conversation. "So we haven't seen Jacob Broadsky lately."

Booth slightly choked on his food. He grabbed a napkin and cleared his throat before speaking. "Why are you bringing this up?"

She shrugged and munched on another ketchup-coated French fry. "I was curious to get your input. Ms. Wick was suggesting that perhaps he moved on with his life. I disagreed, but I do believe that he might have moved to a different area in, or perhaps out, of the country."

"No." Booth shook his head. "Broadsky's made this personal. There's no way he goes out without a bang." He set down his fork and leaned back in his chair.

Brennan dipped another fry into the ketchup and eyed his barely touched pie. "Are you full already?"

"I'm just not hungry anymore," he grumbled back, a little bitter at the unnecessary and dark subject when he was trying to enjoy a hard-earned slice of pie. He slackened his tie a bit and ran his fingers through his hair. Brennan had just voiced the silent anxieties that had been gnawing at him for the past two months. It had been too months, and not a peep, not a whispered threat from Washington D.C.'s notorious ex-sniper. Not a single specially made bullet had been seen, not a single sighting of Broadsky himself. It had been two months too long.

It wasn't that Booth had wanted to discover that another person had become a corpse by Broadsky's hand; it was simply the knowledge that the sniper was being patient so that he could take out his next desired target at the opportune moment. And from the threat that Booth received in his apartment room nearly two months ago, Booth knew that the next target would hit close to home.

"Do you want to take the pie to go?" Brennan's apologetic question snapped him back into the present. He instantly grew sorry for acting as if his lack of appetite was her fault.

"Yeah, I'm just a little tired," he half lied. He was tired, from the case, from the waiting, desperately tired of the waiting, but in truth he didn't want to pretend like any of this was Bones's fault. Booth's worrying for her personal safety could have been considered her doing, but she wouldn't realize that.

Booth looked up at the anthropologist, his heart melting at the sight of her. Although she came off as cold-hearted and insensitive, he knew that on many occasions she was simply innocent.

Dr. Temperance Brennan knew the length of an average femur, the capacity of an adult female's lungs, the signs of being a gymnast at a glance at a person's bones, but she failed to realize things, such as the reason behind all of Booth's antics. Well, at least until he confessed the reasons behind them: love.

To Booth she was not ignorant, but innocent. Growing up in undesirable homes, as well as constant abandonment, hardened her shell, making her what she referred to herself as—impervious.

Booth had unknowingly cracked and gently peeled away the shell that she cocooned herself into. And after six and a half years of shedding, they were finally embracing the love that they had been quietly kindling for so long.

Brennan caught her boyfriend, if that was what he was, staring at her. She smiled and looked back down at her fries. She wasn't used to be adorned this way. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" Booth questioned as he continued on staring. The smile of a content lunatic was glued to his face. It was the smile that a man madly in love wore.

"You look as if you had just received a lobotomy," she stated plainly, secretly not wanting him to stop for as long as they lived.

He chucked, and Brennan was happy that she was able to distract him away from the Broadsky issue, even if it was short-lived.

"My place or yours tonight?" she asked as the couple packed their left over food into styrofoam boxes.

"Yours," Booth answered as he grabbed her coat to help her put it on. She made a weak attempted scowl at being babied before sliding her arms into the sleeves. "I'm still enjoying waking up in a home that is full of pieces of you."

"That is illogical. I don't have pieces of myself in my apartment," she corrected his illogical thinking. "If I did, there would be a fairly good chance that I would not be alive."

He rolled his eyes but smiled at her always rational thinking. "It's an expression, Bones."

"Oh." She nodded, beginning to grasp the hidden meaning behind the literary device.

"I love you," he murmured as he watched her think it through.

She smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek before attempting to gather their food boxes. But before she could turn away, Booth caught her elbow and turned her towards him. He planted his mouth onto hers, and she kissed back happily. They were a couple stuck in the early-relationship love, after battling relationship conflicts for the past too many years. The ups and downs were out of order, but they were presently enjoying this very high up.

Their kiss deepened until a man sitting on a nearby stool, innocently trying to drink his tea, cleared his throat. Booth and Bones broke apart to see him pointedly read the newspaper, eyebrows raised in manner that told them to take their love elsewhere.

Brennan smiled at her partner who blissfully returned the gesture.

The two linked hands and walked out into the chilly night air that resided in East coast nights like these. Brennan huddled closer to Booth who blithely wrapped his arm around her small and firm frame.

But even as the two took a cab back to Brennan's apartment, something nagged unconsciously at the back of Booth's mind. _Something wasn't right, _it silently screamed. _Things were too perfect. Broadsky doesn't abandon the hunt._

But for that night, his mind kept his sniper trained observations from rising to consciousness.

If he had only allowed himself to listen, perhaps he could have prevented Broadsky's future hunting souvenirs from meeting their premature fates.


	2. Another Body

**Thank you so much for all of your alerts, favorites, and reviews! It really encouraged me to continue on with the story. Sorry this one's pretty short, but it establishes some things. Please read, review, and enjoy! 3**

I continued examining the skull as I sat at my desk, trying to drown out the other presence in the room. The size of their mandible suggests that the victim was female. The eyes indicate Caucasian. Is that fracture a result of a blow to the head, or a—

"Ha! Look, Bones! Someone wants to you to write a story based on their life."

Booth. I looked over at the overly jubilant agent holding up another piece of fan mail. If he didn't stop interrupting my work every ten seconds, I would be forced to take my work to another location. Well, perhaps that was a hyperbole. He—

He chuckled again, interrupting my thoughts once more. "Bones, look at this one! They said they saw you at a store. Then they followed you out…" He trailed off as his eye brows scrunched together in worry. "Actually, this is a little creepy. Do you still get any protection at book signings?" He looked up at me, his mind running through the security detail he knew I had, looking for any holes.

I refrained from groaning at his alpha male behaviors. "Booth, I am completely capable of protecting myself." Before he could protest, I changed the subject. "Shouldn't you be doing paperwork in your office? Or perhaps interviewing possible suspects on a case?"

He sighed and leaned back against the couch. "No." His hopeless demeanor instantly weakened my agitation. "The only case I'm working on is what happened to that head. And without an ID, I've got nothing to go on."

"Where'd you find her skull?" I questioned, peering back at the bones. More than not, I would accompany Booth to the crime scene. But this woman's skull had originally been found with the flesh that would render me unnecessary. After Cam examined the deteriorating flesh and Hodgins collected the insects and particles, Daisy Wick then cleaned and delivered the bones to me less than five minutes ago.

"In a dumpster off of Wayne Street," Booth answered, walking over to get a better look at the skull. "So it was a she?"

"That appears to be correct," I concurred, noticing every fracture radiating from the massive hole. "This appears to have been caused by an excessively forced blow to the head, or, perhaps, a long-ranged bullet. I'll indicate the tissue markers and give it to Angela for a facial reconstruction."

He nodded when his phone began to ring. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket before requesting, "Have her call me when we get something to go on."

"Booth!" I called as he began walking out of my office.

"Yeah?"

"Are you still coming to my book signing tonight?" I asked, trying not to show the hope that I possessed. It was irrational and unnecessary to be hopeful about such insignificant matters.

All the same, Booth smiled at me as if it did matter. "I wouldn't miss it." He quickly kissed my lips before answering his phone and departing my office.

He walked back in five minutes later with Parker in tow.

"Hey, Bones!" he greeted, using his father's nickname for me.

"Hi, Parker." I smiled at the happy ten year-old. I stood up to walk with him to visit my father. Every Thursday Rebecca brought Parker by to join one of my dad's after-school science seminars. "How's school?"

"It's O.K. But we've had a sub for a week now."

"They think she and her boyfriend took off for an unplanned vacation to Hawaii," Booth chimed in.

"They think?" I questioned his uncertainty.

"Well, the school's not sure; she didn't leave a note," Booth answered. "Like I said, they think it was unplanned."

"But isn't there a possibility that she—"

"Hey, are you ready to go see Max?" Booth cut me off, looking down at Parker.

I looked at him in confusion as he gave me a disapproving look over Parker's head. What? I was simply going to suggest that she may have been abducted or killed… Oh, I see. Not it front of Parker. I nodded, indicating that I understood.

We walked Parker up to visit my father before walking back to my office. On the way, Booth's cell phone rang again.

"I'll meet you at your office," he offered before stopping to take the call.

I agreed and walked back to finish analyzing the skull.

After five minutes of placing the tissue markers on the victim's skull, Booth walked back into my office, his face looking ashen. "There's been another murder. We need you to look at the bones." He retrieved my coat and held it out for me.

I looked at him in confusion as I rose to slide my arms into the sleeves. "I thought that this skull was your only case."

He sighed and wrapped an arm around me as we began walking toward the parking lot. "The victim they found was shot."

"And…?" I pressed for the priority of the new murder as opposed to the previous one.

The energy Booth seemed to have previously possessed was now drained out of him "They were shot with one of Broadsky's bullets."


	3. In the Trees

**Again, thank you so much for all of the alerts and reviews! **** They truly make my day.**

**This is Brennan's perspective again. (I forgot to clarify that last time, but assumed you guys figured that out.) This starts out a series of more stressful events for our favorite couple. (I do love a protective Booth.) ;) Enjoy!**

It was a quiet trip to the crime scene. The only time we spoke was when Booth called Rebecca to ask her if she could pick Parker up after his science seminar.

The crime scene was in a field in northern Virginia. The dry field was on a privately owned farm, and it was surrounded by Pitch Pine trees. Yellow tape had been set up around the area surrounding the body. As we approached it, I saw that the bones were nearly entirely exposed, the flesh having gone through rapid decomposition.

"The wild animals, along with direct exposure to the sun, seem to have sped up the decomposition," I announced as I squatted down next to the corpse. "Male. Late fourties to early fifties. He appears to be African American."

"How long do you think he's been out here?" Booth asked, his face revealed a portion of the sympathy and guilt that he possessed. I wasn't sure why he would feel guilt, but I had learned to read Booth's expressions over the past six years. Perhaps he thought he knew the victim. Or he may have been still associating himself with Broadsky, in which he would account this death as his own doing.

"I'd estimate two to three days," I offered, trying to push the psychological inference out of my mind. Psychology was a malleable science. "Hodgins can give us a more definite timeline after analyzing the soil and insects."

Booth nodded grimly as one of the crime scene technicians approached him. "Agent Booth," the African American woman called, stepping through the ankle high, sun-crisped weeds. "This is the bullet we recovered." She held up an evidence bag with a gold-colored bullet resting inside. "The landowner, Darryl Robinson, discovered the body this morning. He's had no trouble with the law before, so he doesn't seem to be an obvious suspect"

"Thanks," Booth muttered as he stared at the landowner. The sixty year old man wore a torn flannel shirt, faded blue jeans, and a discolored baseball cap. He looked as if he had accumulated a deep tan from years of sun exposure. I noticed the way he stood: his posture was rigid, his eyes continually shifted, and he held his arms in a crossed position.

"Booth," I murmured as the technician walked away. "From that man's physical manifestations, I'd infer that he could be classified as a suspicious suspect."

Booth rolled up the sleeves of his white work shirt as the scorching sun cooked us on this unnaturally hot day. (Metaphorically, of course. It would take more heat and time to literally cook us.) "He's hiding something," he agreed.

Booth turned back to look at me. "I'm going to ask him a few questions, see if he knows anything."

I nodded as he walked towards Mr. Robinson.

After another minute crouched over the corpse, I sighed, leaned back on my haunches, and wiped the perspiration from my forehead. I looked up at the surrounding trees that tempted me to enjoy the cool shade, only 500 feet away. After all, Pitch Pines were known for their thick foliage, a supreme relief to this burning heat.

As a stared longingly at the dark trees, I noticed something in the branches. I squinted, trying to sharpen my focus on the image. What is that? Perhaps a Black Vulture? It was dark and camouflaged well. I straightened my legs and took a few steps toward the encompassing trees.

I wasn't positive. From this distance, it looked as if it could be a vulture. Maybe it was—

"Bones!" Booth called, standing next to the disgruntled landowner. He looked at me quizzically as I realized I walked about ten feet from the body to get a better view of the ambiguous object in the trees.

I was about to tell him that I had noticed something strange in the trees. To do so, I had turned and taken a step towards him. But before I could mutter a word, a noise hissed in my ear. And before I knew what had happened, I fell to the ground from an object's impact to my left humerus.

"BONES!" Booth's frantic shout echoed louder than what had hit me. I heard his quick footsteps run and crunch down upon the dead weeds, coming in my direction. I clutched my bleeding upper arm when he joined my side. He hovered protectively over me with his gun at the ready, circling the trees for any more attacks.

From the corners of my eyes, I noticed the law enforcement officers pull their guns out and run in the direction that the bullet had been shot from.

Realizing that the gunman would be caught by the police officers, Booth set his gun down and wrapped his suit jacket around my dripping wound.

"No," I protested weakly, resting my hand on his as they tried to stop the bleeding in my arm. In a state of shock I mumbled, "You'll ruin your suit."

Booth half-laughed out of fear, defiance, and insanity. "You're really worried about my jacket right now, Bones?" He smiled, most likely relieved that he was not clutching the hand of a corpse at this moment.

The pain in my arm was screaming, the shock's numbing only capable of blocking so many neurons. The pain not only came from the bullet piercing through flesh and muscle, but the fact that a rifle, when shot from a long distance, had the capability to fracture bones.

"Booth," I gasped through pain as he held my red, broken arm. "I'm fairly certain that the bullet fractured my left humerus."

`"Shh," he murmured, trying to calm me. "It's O.K., Bones. Just take it easy, alright? Stick with me. The ambulance should be here any second."

But it was difficult, and after another second of trying to fight falling into unconsciousness, I felt as if Booth had asked me to do the impossible. I was losing too much blood, due to the bullet shredding through veins. The fracture protruded from its natural alignment, resulting in continuous agony. The shock was overwhelming me like a vise as it only strengthened, never relenting in the slightest. My eyelids began to close of their own accord when I felt my body begin to blissfully drift away.

"Hey, Bones," Booth tried to call me back, more frantic than he had been. "You've gotta stay with me. Come on, baby, I'm here. I need you. Stay with me, Bones."

As he began to realize that my eyes would not be opening any time soon, he rushed his anxious words. "Come on, Bones! Stay with me! Can you hear me? Bones? Come on! Bones?"

But I was beyond the capacity to care as I only drifted further into the sweet darkness.

**Thanks for the read! **** Please review if you have any comments- good, bad, or if you just want me to write another chapter.**


	4. Waking Up

**Oh my gosh! I need to beg for reviews all of the time! =D Thanks for your wonderful comments. They were ****very**** encouraging. I'm open to any suggestions, so if you have any, leave a comment. **** So, in honor of tonight's all-new Bones (YAY!), here's the next chapter early. Enjoy—**

Booth continued counting the moments until she opened her eyes. Would they never end? Wouldn't God have mercy on his soul?

Angela noticed the fierce agitation, written all over his features. She gently laid a hand on his hands, hands that had been in balled fists for the past hour. He glanced at her, offered a pathetic smile, and turned back to the pale woman lying on the discolored sheets of the hospital bed.

"Hey," she quietly murmured as she attempted to comfort her friend again. "You heard what the doctor said; Brennan will wake up any time now. It was just the shock." She offered him a tentative smile, but he was unable to decrease the tension in his muscles.

"I know," he agreed in a sigh. "I just wish she'd open her eyes." Booth's eyes strayed to his Bones's sleeping figure, continuing to wait for a flicker of activity.

The next few moments of silence were interrupted when the vibrations of Booth's phone buzzed from his pocket. He reached into his dust-covered pants, still dirty from cradling Brennan in the field, preparing to turn the nuisance off. But when the screen identified the caller as Hacker, he sighed and put the phone to his ear.

"Booth," he declared solemnly.

"Booth, how's she doing?" his boss answered with sympathy and worry in his voice.

"Not yet conscious." He glanced at Bones before clearing his throat and continuing his conversation. "Did you get Broadsky?"

"We're not positive that it's actually him, Booth," Hacker reminded him.

Booth snorted. "It's him. He did this to send a message." Booth's expression darkened as the guilt washed over him. The guilt chanted that he'd caused this, as well as let this happen. With it came a silent promise of vengeance to capture the ex-sniper once and for all. He'd let Broadsky break into his house, threaten his son, and now attempt to take the life away from his partner. If the F.B.I. was incapable of taking him down, Booth had no doubts that he would.

"We all agree with you, Booth," Hack responded with sympathy lining his voice. "There's just no viable evidence to support that theory at the present time. We'll get him next time."

Booth stood and turned away from Angela's anxious stares, along with Bones's empty ones. He wiped a hand over his drained face as he heard the real news there—they didn't have Broadsky. Not only that, but they'd be waiting until he attacked again.

Booth took a shaky breath to clear his head before responding to his boss. "Did we get anything? Anything at all?"

"Well. . . We got a kid. He's seventeen, named Tim Polsch. He's claiming to be the one to have shot Temperance." Hacker's tone became bitter at restating the boy's obvious lie.

"To hell with that," Booth scoffed. "There's no way some seventeen year old kid goes off shooting at the police without some kind of escape route."

"I know," Hacker agreed warily.

"So no evidence tying this to Broadsky?" Booth summed in a dissatisfied tone. "What about the bullet? Wasn't there a handmade bullet left at the scene? Brennan's doctor said the shot was through and through."

Hacker hesitated before answering. Although Hacker was the superior and both parties knew it, Booth's steely reaction to the news caused him to become a little wary. "There was a bullet, but it's not handmade. It was a store-bought, standard .308. Anyone could have gotten it.

"But there was a fingerprint recovered off the bullet. Maybe Broadsky left it when it was being loaded."

Booth sighed for what felt like the millionth time that hour. Who knows; maybe it was. "Broadksy's not going to be that careless. He's framing the kid."

"As soon as possible, come down to the interrogation room. You might be able to make the kid confess for taking the fall," Hacker suggested.

"Yeah, I'll try." Booth shut the phone and squeezed his eyes shut. The entire crime scene was a bust. Broadsky was able to nearly kill Brennan in broad daylight, surrounded by nothing but cops, yet he didn't have a scrap of evidence to hold him accountable for any of the wrongs that he'd done.

"Booth," Angela called him back to the present as she stared at Brennan's now stirring figure.

Booth flew to her side and captured Bones's hand, Angela taking the other.

"Come on, sweetie," Angela murmured to her best friend. "Come back to us."

"Bones?" he attempted to carry her to consciousness. "Can you hear me? Bones?"

Brennan's eyes flickered open before squinting away from the harsh lights. She had throbbing aches in her shot, broken, and now covered-in-plaster arm. Her head pulsed painfully from the drugs the hospital staff had pumped her up with.

"Hey." Booth breathed all of his anxiety out of his body in that one word. "Thank God, Bones. We were so worried."

Brennan then squinted against his smile; it seemed to be brighter than the light fixtures. "What happened?" she wondered groggily.

Angela felt the love radiating between the two. With a knowing smile, she announced, "I'll go tell everyone you're awake." She gently hugged her friend's damaged frame and murmured, "Glad you're O.K., sweetie."

Brennan weakly watched her friend walk out of the room before turning back to Booth. The way he was adorning her. . . It was so foreign. He acted as if every freckle she had was a miracle from God Himself.

His smile never stopped as he took in every aspect of her. He was trying to remind himself that she was alive and soon-to-be well. She couldn't fight the small, content smile that emerged in return.

"I'm so happy that you're O.K.," he murmured as he hugged her.

How different she had become from the woman she once was. Seven years ago, if this man had approached her with his warm and loving embrace, she would have pinned him to the ground before he could have offered an explanation. But now… now, she gratefully accepted it and hugged him back, happy to be loved.

He pulled back after a few moments, but only to allow his lips to smolder against hers. After they parted, he looked at her and sighed. Not because he was worried about catching a dangerous criminal, about her safety, or about any worries in the world. He sighed in contentment that the one he cherished and loved was here, breathing in his arms. For this, he was eternally grateful.

"I love you, Bones," he murmured softly as he gently laid his forehead against hers, kissing the tip of her nose.

She was able to wrap the arm not cocooned in plaster around his neck and pull him closer to her. The love she felt, another novel experience for her, was equal in every measure, whether she knew it or not. "I love you, too."

**I know, this accomplished few things in the storyline, but I promise that there is more action is to come. B&B were due for a romantic break, anyhow. Hope you enjoyed! If you did, didn't, or have anything to comment, let me know. **


	5. The Target

**From what I've heard, I'm glad that you guys enjoyed the Booth and Bones moment. **** As always, I appreciate all of your reviews, favorites, and alerts. It's such a treat to find that someone took their time to read my story, and have seemed to enjoy it. Many, many thanks.**

**Alright, enough with my ramble of gratitude. In Brennan's perspective, here's Chapter 5—**

They discharged me from the hospital the same day that I had been admitted, now nearly two days ago. I tried to convince Booth that I had been perfectly capable of attending my book signing that night, (after all I hadn't damaged the arm I write with), but he rebuked me for not putting in the effort to "take it easy." His alpha-male behaviors were truly a nuisance at times.

Although I found it unhelpful to allow the killer an extra day to cover his tracks, Booth convinced me to take yesterday off. He nearly forced me to relax by taking Parker and me to the park. In the end, I enjoyed it, but today our jobs needed to be accounted for.

I sighed as I blinked my eyes open to my bedroom. For the past two months of our relationship, Booth and I had been living more so at my apartment than his. As a wonderful result, I found Booth standing at the end of my bed, his hair still wet from recently stepping out of the shower. His chest was bare, only his dark work pants sheathing him. He silently and absent-mindedly pulled his belt through the loops, unknowing of the fact that I was already awake.

He must have felt my constant gaze on him because he turned and found my eyes open. He smiled that beautiful smile and murmured, "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

I rolled my eyes at the entirely cliché pet name. "Would that make you Prince Charming?" I questioned sarcastically.

He smirked mischievously as he leaned across the bed to reach my lips. "Don't you find me charming?"

He was about to press his full, warm lips to mine, but I shoved him away. He gave me a confused, yet amused look. "I haven't even brushed my teeth yet," I explained as I threw the sheet off myself and rose to walk to the bathroom.

He chuckled and set after me again, unfazed. He snatched me into his arms and pulled me close to him, careful of my cast. I leaned into his shirtless figure as he began leaving tails of kisses down my neck. I smiled and began backing up into my bathroom, assuming that he'd let me go. Instead, he walked with me as our breathing sped at his unceasing kissing.

"Booth," I tried to call his attention back to the present. "We have to get ready for work."

He pulled back and was pleased to see that he'd caused my face to flush with pleasure. "Are you sure you're up to going back so soon? You could get another day off. . ."

I shook my head at the offer. "I would have gone back yesterday, had you allowed me." A hint of playful resentment flickered in my eyes.

He let go of my waist and held up his hands in a defensive manner. "It wasn't me, it was Parker; he desperately wanted to see you."

"Blaming your ten-year old son was not the brightest escape route," I pointed out with a smile.

He smirked again. "I'll go make you breakfast." He quickly kissed my lips, making both of us smile. He grabbed his shirt and his loud, "rebellious" tie and socks, the articles of clothing that made him Booth.

The cheerful morning air dissolved as we walked into the lab. Angela had called us on our way to the lab to inform us that she had the facial reconstructions finished.

"Bones, it's just a precaution," Booth tried to convince me with worried, chocolate brown eyes.

I gave him a disapproving look. "Regardless, I gratefully decline the invitation."

He rolled his eyes at my formalities as I stepped out of the passenger seat of Booth's black SUV. He quickly got out of the driver's side and ran to me, where he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. He threw wary glances over his shoulders as he searched for any silent gunmen.

"You could have been killed," he chided. "I think at least a couple of F.B.I. bodyguards are necessary."

"The sniper didn't even come close to any vital organs," I disagreed. "If the intent was to kill me, then I'd either be dead, or they have such a poor shot that I don't have to worry about the possibility of being killed."

The talk of my death only made Booth more anxious. "Don't say that, Bones." He threw more suspicious looks around the Jeffersonian parking garage. "Would if he heard you? You'll just make him want to take you out even more." The euphemism for my death didn't go unnoticed. This sniper issue was greatly affecting him.

"Now you're starting to sound like Hodgins with his paranoid conspiracy theories," I pointed out.

He sighed as we reached the door to the lab entrance. He placed both of his hands on my waist and begged, "Please? I worry so much. . . This will only keep you safer. I promise they'll keep their distance."

My resolve softened a little, but withstood his coaxing. "I'll continuously have you at my side; I do not need any more people following my every step."

He pulled the door open for me, and I stepped through it, only to have him join my side again. He raised an eyebrow and half grinned. "Are you sick of me stalking you?"

I appraised him. "No, not you. Anyone else, maybe. But I find myself to be quite relaxed and comfortable with your presence."

I heard him mutter under his breath, "I'll just get I'll just get a couple of my boys to protect you from a safe distance."

"I won't relent," I stated matter-of-factly. I wouldn't.

He grinned at the challenge. "Neither will I."

"Two stubborns don't make a right," Angela chimed in as we walked into her office.

"I believe you've misinterpreted the phrase 'two wrongs don't make a right,'" I corrected her.

She ginned to herself and gave me a hug. "It's good to have you back, sweetie."

I smiled back. "I've missed you, too, Ange."

Dr. Lance Sweets followed us into Angela's office, having seen us enter the building. "Hello, Agent Booth. Dr. Brennan. How's the arm?"

I gave a nod to indicate a greeting, a social behavior that people in North America practice. It was something that Booth taught me. "It's healing nicely."

"If you ever need to talk about what happened, my door is always open," he informed me.

"Thank you." I gave him a formal smile, assuming that was a metaphor for being able to talk to him about the event. I knew I wouldn't need to consult the soft science, but felt that it would be best if I thanked him for the offer anyways.

"So, I've given the skulls faces," she announced as she tapped at the controls of her screens, "but they haven't found any matches in the missing person's database yet."

She pulled up the faces. The one on the left was an unfamiliar blonde haired, brown eyed woman in her early thirties. She was of average height and weight. But the one on the right . . . the African American male triggered something in my memory. Angela gave him graying side burns, along with subtle wrinkles and crows feet. His face seemed so familiar, but I just couldn't place where I had seen him before.

Booth gasped, recognizing a face. He had recognized the face, too? Where had we encountered this man before? But to my surprise, he pointed at the woman, not the man. "I know her." His face grew paler as he made the connection.

"You do?" Sweets's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"She's Ms. Hayesworth, Parker's missing teacher." Booth's lips clamped together in a white, straight line.

Angela tapped at her computer's controls and found the I.D. on the missing person's database. "Her name was Caroline Hayesworth, a fourth grade teacher at Lafayette Elementary School. She and her boyfriend, Todd Riley, have been missing ten days now."

Booth's hand passed over his face as he took in this new blow.

The man's face was still next to Caroline's on the screen, urging me to remember where I had seen him before. I felt as if I had seen him on frequent occasions.

"And who's the man?" Booth voiced my thoughts in an exhausted tone.

"Oh!" I burst as my epiphany came. "His name is Ernie." I stared at his animated, content face on the screen. It was a different experience when you knew the victim. I wondered if his death was immediate and painless, or if he knew that his life would be taken. I hoped that it was the first option, rather than the latter.

Booth turned to me. "You knew this man?"

I nodded, unable to take my eyes off of Ernie's drawn face. "He was my doorman."

Booth turned and stared at the features too, trying to recall an encounter with him.

Angela pulled up his file on Missing Person's. "Ernest Lawrence, a doorman for Brennan's apartment complex. His wife said he has been missing for four days, though she couldn't file a report until two days ago."

All three of us had turned pale at the fact that we knew these people on a personal level.

"All were killed from a long-ranged bullet to the skull," I stated quietly.

"I hate to ask," Angela said with a disgusted face, "but why did Broadsky kill them?"

"My guess would be that he was sending a message," Sweets shared his opinion shakily, "or in this case, a threat. Both victims have a connection to Parker and Dr. Brennan. And their connection is Booth."

We all turned to Booth as he spoke with anger and fear lining his voice. "So you're saying that Broadsky's doing this, threatening my family, to threaten me?" His features gradually grew livid.

Sweets nodded. "Broadsky knows you're a family-oriented man. Perhaps he believes that targeting them would be a better way to target you."

From the way Booth reacted, I agreed with that statement.

**Hope you enjoyed it! **** Review, etc. etc. Now that the storyline track is established, I'm going to try to write in as much action as possible without making it too unrealistic. I'm on a two week spring vacation from school, so I should be able to update a lot sooner. (If I can think of some good events for B&B.)**

**Also, if you have any suggestions, please let me know. And do you like Brennan's perspective or third person better? Let me know.**

**(P.S.S. I highly suggest you read ****Animus et Anima****'s story "The Temperance in the Joy", if you haven't already. I found it very entertaining.)**


	6. Bad Omens

**Thanks for your wonderful responses! **

**Warning: Contains spoilers for Two Bodies in the Lab, The Man in the Cell, Aliens in a Spaceship, and The Hero in the Hold. (But if you haven't seen these episodes yet, you haven't lived.)**

That was how I came to sitting at my desk, nearly bolted to the chair. Booth anxiously paced my office, the room too small for his quick, long strides. He frantically attempted to dial Rebecca's number, trying to ensure Parker's safety, but she wouldn't pick up. This set him even more on edge.

Hodgins was continuously analyzing Ernie's body and Caroline's skull for any particulates, but so far had found none. I didn't blame him. We had little to go on for a skull in a dumpster and a man shot from a long distance sniper rifle. Personally, I concluded that Hodgins was simply trying to stay away from Booth's anxiety-fueled fury.

Ms. Wick, Cam, and Angela were all attempting to conclude anything from the facts given to us. I desperately wanted to participate in the investigation with them, but Booth's hell-fire was continuing to rain. He was a frantic man desperately attempting to find his son, as well as keep me in his line of sight. I honestly did not know what he would do if Broadsky chose to take me out right here and now. I doubted he could dial an ambulance any faster than the Jeffersonian security guards.

"Yes, is this Lafayette Elementary School?" Booth asked the phone for what was now the third time. The desperately hopeful gleam in his eyes joined the desperately anxious one. "It is? Thank God! Listen, I need to contact my son."

"Booth!" I rudely interrupted, trying to get him to understand my view point on the situation once more. "You need to go to his school. I'll be fine here at the lab."

Booth was about to respond with a distressed answer, but someone on the phone call his attention to them. "Yes," he responded to the phone. "Parker Booth. He's in the fourth grade."

Seeing that Booth was completely absorbed in his conversation and turned away from the door, I chose this moment to help in the investigation. I was not an invalid in need of constant babysitting, and I did not intend to be treated like one. After all, I was obscuring Booth's judgment. If he wasn't distracted, he would be protecting his son personally instead of relying on a team of F.B.I. agents to do it.

Illogically, I felt like a teenager sneaking out of the house. I silently stood up from my desk and made my way out of my office to the forensic platform.

"It was definitely a serrated blade," Daisy concluded in her ever perky voice, although she did understand that now was a time to tone the excitement down. "The bone markings on the C3 vertebrae indicate that it was serrated." She pointed the camera at the cuts on the bones.

"Good work, Ms. Wick," I concurred as I snapped a pair of latex gloves onto my hands. "The jagged edges are extremely close. . ." I trailed off as I peered at the enlarged bone on the screen. "Perhaps, this could be the result of a power tool, or in this case, a power saw."

I glanced at my colleagues to see if they agreed, but they all stared at me with looks of worry. "What?"

"Sweetie," Ange broke the silence. "Are you sure you want to be working so soon?"

I gave her a confused look. "How would Broadsky affect my working abilities? I am still perfectly capable of using my right hand, and, therefore, should not be rendered as an invalid." Towards the end, a little anger seeped into my tone as my frustration at being cooped up emerged.

Cam held up her hands in a defensive position. "We understand that, Dr. Brennan. But I do think that Booth might think otherwise."

"He is not in control of my actions, nor their consequences," I stated. "Although I do value his opinion, his alpha male tendencies have seemed to obstruct his better, more logical judgment."

Cam pressed her lips together and looked back at the remains. "He can't say we didn't try," she muttered under her breath.

Hodgins then ran up to the platform, swiped his card through the security sensor, and joined us. He had a large grin plastered to his face and a beaker in one hand. "You'll never guess what I found."

"Knowing you, I bet we won't," Angela chimed in with a humored look.

He continued smiling as he ignored her comment. "I found a Goliath Birdwing . . . wing." He shrugged after the last word, noticing that it sounded abnormal in the context.

"Which is . . .?" Cam prompted the rest of the thought to be spoken.

Hodgins grinned at her for asking as Angela rolled her eyes at his prompt for attention. "The second largest butterfly in the world, found only in New Guinea. Which prompts the question: Which murder suspect has been to New Guinea recently?"

"Do you think that Broadsky has been in Melanesia during these past two months?" I questioned, trying to place the evidence with our only murder suspect. It truly shouldn't be this way; the evidence should lead us to the suspect, not the other way around. But because of the lack of evidence for an important case, we were forced to fit the puzzle into the pieces.

Just then, Booth came running out of my office, his phone in his hand, as he frantically scanned the Jeffersonian for my presence. He spotted me quickly and ran to my side in an instant. "Bones! What are you doing? Broadsky has a perfect shot of your head from any of the surrounding rooftop windows." He swiveled a finger, indicating Broadsky could be anywhere. He took my hand and nearly attempted to drag me out of the "range of fire" before I pulled my hand from his grasp.

"Booth!" I protested with an annoyed expression. "You're being paranoid! I doubt Broadsky would be able to have made it past all of the security to the skylights.

"Besides, I am probably more valuable here in front of the remains."

"No." He shook his head. "You're definitely more valuable alive."

I stared at him, experiencing déjà vu. He'd said those exact words to me when my life was in danger before, now nearly six years ago. Throughout that experience, I was the target. Yet, in the end, Booth was the one who ended up hurt.

This prompted my mind to remember another time I had been in danger: the Howard Epps case. The case concluded with Booth going through mental distress.

And again, when the Gravedigger put my life in the balance, Booth had eventually ended up in the ground after me. Would this Broadsky case prove do produce the same conclusion? Was this case a bad omen for his safety?

He sighed and put his hands around my waist, believing the sudden worry in my eyes to be about my own well-being. "Look, I'm not trying to be controlling or trying to annoy you."

"But you're still succeeding," I grumbled quietly.

His mouth twitched into a smile, but he proceeded as if uninterrupted. "But I think that you will be safer in an enclosed area, away from windows." He could see the protest rising on my lips, so he hurried to continue. "Just at least until Cam's extra security measures are put into action."

I groaned quietly, unable to refute any scientific data. After all, there were no studies that supported the idea that staying in a line of shot was safe. What he was saying was completely logical, and I couldn't pretend it wasn't, despite my wishes to ignore the logic there. "I suppose I can agree to those terms. But if those measures haven't been activated by tomorrow, I refuse to stop my work because of Broadsky," I warned.

I believe all that Booth heard there was my compliance because he smiled and pulled me close towards him. "That's all I'm asking, Bones."

"I'll make sure that the security measures follow through by tomorrow," Cam promised with a smile, reassuring Booth of my safety and me of his own.

Booth nodded in acknowledgement before wrapping his arm around my shoulders and ushering me out of the lab. I was now suddenly grateful that he wanted to keep me in his line of sight, because I wanted to keep him in mine. It didn't matter if Booth was the intended target; I was still the one being hunted. I wouldn't let something else happen to him because of me. Not again.

Throughout the car ride to Lafayette Elementary School, Booth's hands remained white from clenching the steering wheel. Half way through the drive, I noticed a couple of black SUVs, similar to our own, that tailed us for more than a few blocks. I turned to Booth to ask him about it, but caught him hurriedly looking away from my questioning expression. "Bodyguards really aren't necessary, Booth," I complained. "It's wasting government resources when we are both perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves. We are both armed and adequate enough to take anyone down, especially since there are two of us."

"Both of us are armed?" he questioned with a raised eyebrow. When I silently continued to wait for an answer, he shrugged his shoulders defensively. "Hey, I'm just trying to follow standard F.B.I. procedures." I stared at him dubiously. He never followed procedures to the letter. That fact was declared through his unordinary ties and socks. Caught in the lie, he begged, "If not for you, then for Parker."

I sighed and turned away, knowing that he was right. Parker needed to be protected.

When we got to the school, Booth and I marched into the school office and to the principal's office. The principal was absent, but Parker stood surrounded by four F.B.I. issued bodyguards. His face was a little frightened but had the amazement of a ten year boy standing in front of so many men in body armor. Booth ran up to his son and hugged him, asking him if he was alright. Parker nodded, and Booth hugged him once more before he straightened and stood next to the both of us.

The principal, a tall blonde woman, quickly strode into her claustrophobic office. "Hello, my name is Mrs. Aveugles, the principal for this school. It's terribly distressing to hear about your predicament." She shook our hands and offered us a seat before sitting at her desk.

Booth preferred to stand next to his son, and I chose to do the same. Booth's mouth was in a tight line, a polite smile unable to reach the surface, as he spoke. "As you can understand, we'll need to do a sweep of the school, just in case the sniper left anything or is still here."

"Of course, of course," Mrs. Aveugles encouraged while waving her hands. "I've cleared the school of the students and staff for the day, considering the circumstances. Feel free to roam as you please."

Booth nodded. He looked down at Parker and asked, "Hey, kiddo? Do you think you could step outside with these guys for a minute?"

Parker nodded. "Sure." He and all four of the bodyguards filed out of the suddenly spacious room.

Once the door had been shut, Booth offered me a seat and took one of his own. "As you know, Ms. Hayesworth has been missing over a week now."

Mrs. Aveugles struggled through her blank stare. "Yes, of course." She chose to fake understanding, something that Booth easily saw through.

"She's Parker's fourth grade teacher," he clarified. "She's been missing for about ten days. We're sorry to inform you that her skull was recently identified. She has been dead for a little over a week."

She put a hand over her mouth in astonishment. "Oh my." She took a deep breath and dropped her hand. "Are you certain that it was her? I find it a tad ironic, considering that Parker is now in this sniper mess."

"Well, we believe that the death may be connected to the target on Parker," Booth admitted. He then proceeded to retell the information learned on the case regarding Parker and Caroline. In the end, Booth agreed to help sweep the school for any evidence of Broadsky's presence.

"I think you should stay in the school's office with Parker," Booth murmured to me after we exited the principal's office. His chocolate brown eyes pleaded with me to stay.

I turned to face him completely so I could try to finally make him understand. "Booth. I think it would be most wise if you understand this sooner rather than later: You cannot get rid of me on this investigation. I'm already apart of it and will proceed to be unless my capabilities wane."

Booth winced slightly at the implication there, but I continued. "Please, understand this. So many times today people have tried to convince me to wait silently on the sidelines of the investigation, so to speak. But I'm apart of this team too, especially when it directly affects my . . . family." I struggled for the right word to place for our team, and I found that family would be an appropriate fit. Although we originally met together as a "squint squad", to use Booth's term, we had united over the past six years to emerge as a family.

Booth's smile convinced me that he agreed with the term for our faction. "I guess I'll just have to do what we always do and stop complaining."

I raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"

"You do the thinking, and I protect you." He flashed me one of his smirks, the smirks that made my heart race and smile in return.

After arranging for Rebecca to come get Parker and his shadowing bodyguards, a couple of the F.B.I. agents, Booth, and I silently made our way through the school, searching for any sign of Broadsky.

"This is Parker's classroom," Booth declared after we came to one of the rooms. "He showed it to me on Open House night."

In a swift movement, the bodyguards burst into the room, quickly followed by Booth and me. I pulled out the gun from my ankle holster, causing Booth to roll his eyes when he glanced at me. The room held no other people, but we began to sweep it for anything that could lead us to the sniper.

All of the desks had name tag taped to them, so I marched up to the one which read Parker Booth. I circled it and found nothing out of the ordinary. The inside was hollow and seemed empty, as did the under side of the desk. I carefully balanced it backwards, knowing that Broadsky had to have left something. Sure enough, taped to the top of the cubby of space, was a sheet of white paper. "Booth," I called him closer as I gently peeled the note off the plastic.

Booth moved his way over to me and realized what I was doing. He looked over my shoulder, and we paled as we read the few words written there:

_BOOTH. YOU'RE RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT HAPPENS NEXT._

I looked at him, meeting his fear-stricken eyes with my own. "What happens next?"

**Reviews are greatly appreciated. **

**The next chapter should have more action, rather than suspense.**

**(Side note—"****Aveugles" is French for "blind", which is the principal's name because of her annoying ignorance.)**


	7. Where the Butterfly Leads

**Haha I love you guys! **

**I'm not sure if I was required to add a disclaimer into my story, so I'll just throw one out there now: This is me, disclaiming the disclaiming of my disclaimer.**

**In third person POV, here's Chapter 7—**

To ensure his own son's safety, as well as Rebecca's, Booth was forced to send the two off to an F.B.I. safe house in Wisconsin. He was unable to know if they were alright, if they were safe, if they were alive; the thought of living with these fears were nearly unbearable.

Brennan was the one who saved him from insanity. Being the man he was, Booth asked her to take all of the safety precautions Parker and Rebecca were taking. She had declined, something that Booth was secretly, guilty grateful for. He would be able to call her and know if she was alright, rather than desperately waiting for a call from the F.B.I.'s secure phone line.

Booth was beyond trying to help Broadsky out of his twisted mind-set at this point. He had threatened his family, and now the corrupt sniper was trying to push the blame onto Booth. No. Now the only thing Booth wanted to do was take out this sociopath by any means possible.

So now he would. Booth was now on his way to the Hoover building, ready to get some answers.

Special Agent Seeley Booth marched through the building with a look of pure determination etched into his features. He strode past the offices, clasping Brennan's hand in his own as he kept in her in tow. He ignored his colleagues as he past them, but Brennan noticed as the agents shared curious glances.

"Where's the kid?" Booth asked briskly after walking into Andrew Hacker's office.

Hacker stood as he noticed the duo. He quickly snatched a tan folder off his desk and handed it to Booth. Wisely choosing not to question the man, Hacker informed him, "Interrogation Room B."

With a sharp nod, Booth exited the office, taking an oddly silent Brennan with him, to arrive at Interrogation Room B.

A teenage kid leaned casually back in his metal chair, his feet at ease as they rested on the metal table. His wrists were handcuffed as his hands cradled the back of his shaggy, dyed black hair. He wore a skater's clothes, accompanied by plugs and a smirking expression. His gloating eyes lit up as Booth and Brennan walked in and shut the door.

"Hey, you're my CPS reps, right?" the kid asked with an amused expression. "'About time you bailed me outta here. I've been sitting here all night!"

Brennan released Booth's hand and sat calmly in one of the chairs facing the boy. Booth was unable to bring himself to sit down. Instead, he leaned against the table and looked at Tim with a smirk of his own. "Timothy Polsch." He leaned forward with a smile that sent ice down Tim's back. Booth cocked his head and politely asked, "Why'd you try to shoot my partner?"

Tim looked towards Brennan, assuming she was Booth's partner, and appraised her. He turned back to Booth, determined not to let this federal guy get to him. Tim's mouth flickered into a grin as he answered, "I'd be happy to do more than shoot her." He looked at Brennan's irritated expression before finishing. "If that's what you what from me, baby."

Booth allowed himself to grin at the boy's arrogance. He then reached over and pulled Tim up by the neck of his shirt, followed by Booth slamming the kid's face into the hard, cold table. Blood spluttered from Tim's nose and dripped onto the metal.

"You broke my nose!' Tim yelled his accusation as Booth shoved the kid away from him. "I'll- I'll sue!"

"You are incapable of suing Agent Booth for anything," Brennan joined in, finally annoyed by him. "All I saw was a Neanderthal tripping into the interrogation room and falling against the table."

Booth grinned at Bones before turning back to the flustered Tim. "So, Tim. Why'd you shoot my partner?"

Tim collapsed against the back of his chair. He nursed his bloody nose with his hands, but continued to glare at Booth. "Go to Hell, man."

Booth smiled again. When he began reaching for the kid's shirt again, Tim held up a hand in defense. "Okay, okay! I'll give." The F.B.I. agent dropped his hands and waited for him to finish. Tim sighed and relented. "I was hired."

"Hired by whom?" Brennan asked before Booth could.

Tim looked to her, this time without lust in his eyes. "I don't know. It was some bald dude; he didn't tell me his name. He just came up to me off the street and asked me if I wanted to make some money. All I had to do was give him a couple of my prints, hide out in some trees, and run when he told me to."

Booth flipped through Tim's file. "And you just gave him your fingerprints without asking about anything?" Booth questioned with a frustrated expression. "Are you a total idiot?"

"Hey, man!" Tim shot back as he pointed a finger at the federal agent. "I'm not stupid! I was just banged from the. . ." Tim trailed off as he realized what he was admitting. Booth raised his eyebrows as he waited for this kid to confess for drug possession.

"Do you know where this man is now?" Brennan asked as the two men continued to stare at each other, both unrelenting.

Tim finally broke off the stare-down and looked back at Bones, more defiance rising into his eyes. "Why the hell would I know that? I already got paid."

"Well, that's too bad," Booth commented as he helped Brennan to her feet.

Tim looked at the two, suddenly confused. "Wait. Why?"

Booth shrugged. "We have no evidence tying this bald guy to the scene. You were the only one seen at the crime scene, it was your fingerprint on the bullet, and you've already admitted to shooting Dr. Brennan."

"From a federal perspective," Brennan chimed in, "that's enough to fully charge you with attempted murder. You could be charged as an adult, in which you would serve approximately seventy to one hundred and sixty-two months in a state penitentiary."

"Bones is right." Booth nodded with a shrug. "And my guess is someone like you wouldn't last long in prison."

Tim gulped but fought to not let the fear show. "What do you mean by 'someone like me'?"

Booth let a smile small come to his lips as he saw that he was getting underneath Tim's skin. "You know, young, male. . ." He trailed off as he watched the fear in Tim's eyes slowly come to the surface.

"No!" he shouted, suddenly frantic. Because even though Tim believed he'd faced it all, he realized his few months in juvenile hall wouldn't compare with what he could face in jail. "Please! You have to believe me! There was this guy, and he made me do it! He's real! I swear to God, he's real!"

Booth leaned forward and slammed his fist on the table. "Then tell us where he went!"

Tim's mouth gaped open as he scrambled to recall any information on Broadsky's whereabouts. His eyes lit up as he remembered something. "He said that he was going somewhere! Somewhere where he said he could finally stop and smell the roses. Whatever the hell that means."

Booth unknowingly allowed some of his own desperation to be revealed. "Did he say anything else? Anything at all?"

Tim once again floundered to remember. "He said he'd find some bones there. I thought he'd just take the body there or something."

Booth and Brennan looked at each other, attempting to decipher Broadsky's message. "Do you think he left us another body?" Brennan asked quietly so that Tim wouldn't hear her.

Tim heard her all the same. "Whoa, another body?" More fear gathered into his eyes. "No, man, I'm not going down for multiple murders!"

Booth and Brennan ignored him completely and walked out of the interrogation room. Tim shouted after them for a lawyer, but his calls went unnoticed by the surrounding authorities; he must have been causing noise ever since his entrance into the Hoover building.

"Hodgins, the bug and slime guy, but also today's King of the Lab," Hodgins introduced himself as he answered Booth's phone call. "How may I assist you today, Agent Booth?"  
"Hodgins, we know who you are," Brennan responded with a look of confusion. "Your introductions are unnecessary."

"He's trying to gloat about something," Booth clarified as he continued driving. He was anxious and unsure where to go. He needed to get to Broadsky, and he needed to catch him soon. "But I don't have the time. Hodgins, where can I—"

"Booth!" Hodgins cut the annoyed agent off. A smile was present in Hodgins's voice. "I've found some evidence on Caroline's head. I think you should hear it what it is."

Booth huffed out a breath and demanded, "What?"

"I found an Ornithoptera Goliath wing. It's a butterfly wing. Which I thought was kind of strange, considering that they are so rare and found only in New Guinea. Did you know that they're actually the second largest butterfly in the world? The first would be the Ornithoptera Alexandrae, found typically in—"

"Hodgins!" Booth stopped his ramble in a pleading tone. "Just sum it up for me in two sentences."

"It helps if you use smaller words," Brennan added. Booth shot her a look, a look that was returned with one of confusion.

"I found a rare butterfly. The only place around here that has them is the Botanic Garden," Hodgins placed the information in the simplest terms he could muster.

"Thanks," Booth acknowledged before ending the call and swerving his SUV in the direction of the U.S. Botanic Gardens.

"Booth, that is what Broadsky could have been referring to," Brennan pointed out as her brain quickly made the correlation. "The Botanic Gardens have received a large amount of publicity for their rose gardens."  
Booth nodded as he realized the connection, too. "I'll call in for back-up."

The two drove to the gardens, not knowing what exactly to expect. All they knew was that this was where Broadsky had aimed for them to end up.

**Thanks for the read! I'm hoping to keep you reading with another cliff hanger. ;) **

**Sorry, I know I promised action, but I kind of blanked about Tim's role. Haha Whoops. Oh, well. The next chapter is when things heat up.**

**P.S.S. I've finally figured out which direction this story will take, and I'm really excited about the story's climax now. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I am!**


	8. The Bones Found

**Your responses made me jump for joy. ;)**

**My bad—There was only a piece of the Goliath Birdwing wing found on the head. It would be kind of unrealistic to have an entire wing, (considering how large they are), to be found on the skull.**

**This chapter hints at some quotes from The Boy with the Answer and Aliens in a Spaceship. Third person again, here's Chapter 8—**

After Booth and Brennan arrived in the Botanic Garden's parking lot, they anxiously sat in silence. Booth was insisting that they wait for back-up, and even then Brennan should wait in the car. As a natural response, Brennan fought his idea.

"Booth, Broadsky may be waiting for us," she attempted to convince her distressed partner. "If he hears the sirens, he may take off. We'd have to wait for him to contact us in another manner to find him again." She stared at him, knowing that Booth would do anything to prevent another murder.

She was right, but there were two things in the world that he wouldn't risk to catch Broadsky. One of them was sitting next to him. "Then you need to stay here," Booth amended as he pulled his gun out of its holster. He then handed the gun to her. "Here, take this for protection."

Brennan pulled out her bulky gun in response. "Booth, I can take care of myself. I'll be fine."

Booth shook his head as he set his gun down on the seat next to him. "No. If we're going to do this, then we're going to do this my way." To fight her rising string of protests, Booth used logic against her. "Bones, if Broadsky tries to take me out, then I need to you to call an ambulance. If you get shot with me, then we'll both die."

Brennan stared at him. She recognized that he was only trying to convince her to stay in the car, but she also knew that he wouldn't leave until she promised to stay out of the sniper's eyesight. They were wasting valuable time by bickering, so she reluctantly nodded. "Be careful, Booth."

He nodded. Adrenaline pulsed through their veins as they anticipated what was to come. Out of fear and anxiety, Brennan pulled her Booth close to her and forced her mouth against his. They kissed in a short frenzy, attempting to declare their love to each other in those frightening two seconds. When they pulled apart, they panted and stared at each other for a moment longer before Booth snatched his gun off the seat and exited the car.

Brennan took a deep breath and tangled her shaking fingers together. She slightly wondered if it would have been easier to do as she suggested a year ago—to not feel things on a highly emotional level, to _disintegrate all personal relationships. Maybe she wouldn't feel this sense of dread that gnawed at her now. _

_But this thought didn't last long. If there was one thing that Booth had taught her over the course of their partnership, it was that there was nothing like the feeling of love. It surpassed anything that one could dream of. Love had caused these consequences of anxiety, but she illogically, irrationally concluded that these close relationships were worth it. She was, as she once heard it declared, nuts about Booth. _Over the moon. Stupid in love with him. And Booth's feelings were mutual. This knowledge, this feeling, was something that she was eternally grateful for.

Booth moved stealthily through the parking lot and towards the Rose Garden. He kept a wary eye out as he moved like the sniper he was. He wouldn't give Broadsky a chance to take him out. Soon, he had uneventfully made it to the rose garden.

A few people in blissful ignorance strolled past the beautiful flower, not knowing the danger surrounding them. Booth did his best not to alarm them, as well as not to alarm Broadsky. He moved in a silent nonchalance, scanning every bush, every tree, every plant for his enemy.

Booth strode deeper into the garden, continually searching for the sniper and any clues he might have left behind. When he turned a corner, he saw it. Something, or someone, was sticking out from a line of bushes. With fierce determination, he soundlessly ran up it. From the musky scent, he determined what it was before he even saw it. As he pushed aside the foliage, he revealed two decaying bodies. They were nearly completely devoid of flesh at that point, and one was missing the skull.

Booth sighed as he called it in to the F.B.I. forensic team. After which, he called Brennan. "Bones. I've found Caroline's and her boyfriend's bodies. When the forensic and back-up teams gets here, come up with them."

Booth sighed at another tally added to Broadsky's scoreboard. Honestly, that was what these lives were to him now; he was playing a game and these people were being used as pawns.

Booth began searching the surrounding trees, searching for Broadsky or any other evidence. He had come up empty by the time the F.B.I. teams arrived in front of the bodies two minutes later.

He was waiting for Bones to come through the garden when Booth's phone rang. He glanced at the Caller I.D. which signaled Unknown. "Booth," he answered warily.

"Is this Special Agent Seeley Booth?" an authoritative female voice questioned from the other end.

"Yes," he responded cautiously.

"This is Agent Tamera Dawson," she introduced herself, her tone becoming a tad more reluctant. "I was assigned the case of keeping your family in protective custody in Wisconsin."  
"Did something happen?" Booth instantly questioned as more adrenaline pounded into his bloodstream.

There was a slight pause before Dawson spoke. "It seems that your son, Parker, cannot be accounted for as of this moment."

"You lost Parker?" Booth demanded harshly through gritted teeth. His vision blurred as anger and fear overwhelmed him. He scanned the crowd for Bones so that he could grab her and drive to the airport.

"He went into the airport bathroom about ten minutes ago. When he didn't come out, we went in there to search for him but cam up empty-handed. We cannot be sure of where he disappeared to," she admitted. "We're shutting down the airport until we find him, but we thought you would need to know immediately."

Booth was unable to muster a 'thanks' to these people. After all, they had just lost his only child. He prayed for their sake, and for his own, that Parker was alright and would be found quickly. "Call me if anything changes," he barked his order before snapping his phone shut.

Booth turned and continued to search for Brennan. He couldn't spot her. Anxious to find her and rush over to the airport, he demanded of a fellow forensic technician, "Have you seen Dr. Brennan?"

The man shook his head no.

Booth circled the small crowd of people once more. He needed to find her quickly, but he didn't see her auburn hair in this mass of people.

Suddenly, a shot rose out from the parking lot. Booth was already full of adrenaline and fear, but somehow the chemicals in his system heightened as he realized what that sound may have just signaled. "Bones!" he called out as he took off towards the parking lot.

Booth didn't know what was happening; he was on autopilot. His feet sprinted him at an impossible speed towards the lot as his eyes searching frantically for his partner. He reached the parking lot in no time and began calling out for Brennan.

She didn't respond.

He continued to search for her.

She was no where to be seen.

Booth had worked himself into a frantic frenzy. In no less than five minutes, he managed to lose the two things he cared most for.

Needing to do something, Booth ran to his SUV and noticed that the passenger door was wide open. He looked inside as he called for Bones again. She wasn't there, and neither was Broadsky. Instead, a streak of freshly spilled blood had coated the passenger seat, extending down the seat and out the door. It stopped on the pavement just outside of the car. The signs of the struggle were luckily not enough put a person in critical condition, but, nonetheless, signaled pain. Sitting gently on the red was a folded sheet of stiff, white paper. The edges were slowly becoming enveloped in red as the blood was becoming absorbed.

With cold fingers, Booth picked up the piece of paper and opened it. Broadsky had inscribed three cruel, taunting words:

_I FOUND BONES._

** Reviews make me write faster…. ;D**


	9. The Waiting Game

**I'm really excited that you guys are into the story! =D Spoilers to Two Bodies in the Lab and The Man in the Cell. This chapter kind of skips around a bit, but I wanted to put all of these snippets into one chapter, rather than dividing them up into separate chapters.**

**Alright, without further ado: voici, c'est Chapter 9—**

_(Flashback—Bones POV)_

Booth had called, informing me that he had found two bodies. All of the F.B.I. teams had just arrived and were now marching up to the scene.

I didn't exactly approve of Booth's protective tendencies, but I understood that it was apart of whom he was. After all, he had been reasonable enough to allow me onto the dangerous case, so I might as well relent in some instances. Trying to agree with our compromise, I had waited until the F.B.I. arrived to follow them up.

I opened the car door as the last of teams went up the stairs and out of sight, storming to the scene faster than I had realized. I had begun to step out when I remembered that my equipment was on the seat behind me. I turned and kneeled on the seat, reaching for the bag. As I outstretched my arm, something roughly gripped my ankle.

I panicked, praying to no one that it was Booth. But this grasp was too harsh, too painful, to his comforting hands. I turned quickly, attempting to wrench my foot from my pursuer's hold.

I should have suspected it would be Broadsky; he was the most likely suspect. But my brain was in an adrenaline-filled haze, resulting in a gasp escaping from my lips when I recognized him. Broadsky smiled. It was the smile of a twisted, wicked man, but also had a hint of sadness behind it. For a brief moment, the part of me that had learned from Booth's empathetic manners began to wonder why he might be sad. But then he reached for me again, and I snapped out of my roaming thoughts. This was a fight or flight, presumably to my death, and my first instinct was flight.

I threw another kick at his face, but he neatly dodged it. I used the small moment of his distraction to scramble towards the backseats. If I only had the opportunity to get away from him for a moment, I would be able to speed dial Booth. But as I was half way over the arm rest of the passenger seat, Broadsky grabbed a hold of both of my ankles, yanking me back in a single pull. I screamed pointlessly. No one could hear my voice; we were too far from the crime scene, and there was no one left in the private parking lot, other than us.

Quickly, I realized that flight was beginning to become nearly impossible. I briefly panicked before a thought ran through my mind: _my gun._ I wanted to kick myself for not thinking of it sooner, but I knew had no time to waste. These thoughts served no logical purpose as I fought to preserve my life. I rushed to reach my gun from the seat next to me, and, by some miracle, I was able to grasp it. I hastily pulled it up and cocked it to shoot Broadsky, but he realized what I was doing too quickly. I managed to point it at him, but it was too short of a moment; he pushed the barrel of the gun upward before I could fire.

I attempted to aim it at him again, but his hold on the gun was immovable. To my horror, he began to enclose his free hand around my waist and heft me out of the car. In a blind frenzy, I shot off the gun in an attempt to stop him, but my plan cruelly backfired. Instead of hitting him, the bullet shredded through the plaster of my cast and skimmed my already damaged left arm. I cried out and briefly froze in shock. Broadsky used that moment to roughly pull me against him.

"I'm sorry," Broadsky muttered with indifference in his eyes. He took my gun from my shaking hands and crashed in down against my skull.

My surroundings blurred into an unwelcome darkness.

…

_(Third Person POV—Booth)_

"Seeley, he's fine," Rebecca assured Booth again. "Parker just got a little lost. In his defense, they really shouldn't have put two doors in a bathroom." Rebecca's tone became musing as she spoke of her son.

Booth took a deep breath, unsuccessfully trying to calm his fried nerves. The promises of Rebecca's and Parker's safety did reassure him a little, but did not even begin to nudge Booth out of the 'anxious' category. Although, Parker's disappearance had been a frightening, nerve-wrecking mistake, Bones's capture was sadly as real as all of the other kidnapping cases Booth had worked during his long career working as an F.B.I. agent.

"Dad, I'm O.K.!" Parker shouted from the background of the phone.

"See, Seeley?" Rebecca attempted to reconcile the irreconcilable agent once more. "I won't let him out of my sight again, I promise."

Booth ran a hand over his face. "Just stick with the agents, alright? I don't want to have to go on a manhunt for you two, too."

Rebecca became sympathetic to her son's father. "We will. I hope you find her, Seeley."

"Me, too," Booth murmured before closing his phone and tucking it into his suit pocket.

Booth took another deep breath, still unable to calm himself in the slightest. It seemed ironic that once again, here he was, hoping that Brennan was still alive as Hodgins stood at his side. The only difference was that when Kenton had taken Bones, they knew exactly where to find her. Now, they were helpless at rescuing her. This fact set Booth even more on edge as he turned to Hodgins and begged, "Please tell me you found something. Is there any trace, any evidence, at all?"

Hodgins pursed his lips as he continued to examine the scene for the hundredth time. There was nothing more to be found, but Hodgins would continue to search. It wasn't only to help Brennan return, but also to help Booth retain some of his sanity.

Booth continued to wait anxiously as the entomologist was unable to provide any new information. Hodgins straightened, a look of sadness disappointing Booth before the scientist could speak. "I'm sorry, man," Hodgins apologized. "I don't see anything here other than the blood, gun, and the bullet. But, hey, who knows? It may get us some concrete evidence to convict Broadsky."

Booth nodded grimly, realizing that they didn't discover anything to actually find and catch Broadsky. Booth wondered if he'd expected too much by hoping that he'd be able to save Bones. After all, nothing else had a positive outcome, so why would this?

…

It had been two anxiety filled days. Each member of the squint squad had gotten no more than five hours of sleep in the past forty-eight hours, and it was taking a heavy toll on everyone. They were fueled on coffee alone as they searched for anything to lead them to Brennan, but nothing was appearing. The bullet had come from Brennan's gun, and the gun and blood belonged to her. They did find Broadsky's fingerprint on the gun, but that could do nothing to locate Bones.

After the two sets of skeletons had been examined without the help of the best forensic anthropologist, Angela had been able to identify the two victims as Caroline Hayesworth and her boyfriend, Todd Riley. This, too, was unhelpful in finding Brennan, but the entire team had gathered into Angela's office to look at the one scrap of evidence they had left.

"Perhaps, the decapitation was simply to taunt our team," Sweets suggested when they had questioned why Broadsky had separated Caroline's head from her body. "Broadsky knew what we were capable of, and he wanted to give us as little evidence as possible for when we identified the victim."

Angela grimaced. "It's just like the Epps case all over again. He lets us see what he wants us to see. And now instead of Cam in danger, it's Brennan." Tears began to flow freely from her eyes. Hodgins wrapped her protectively into a hug, trying to comfort his grieving wife.

"We caught the bad guy in the end," Cam attempted to brighten the team's spirits and provide them with hope.

"Not exactly," Sweets muttered under his breath. When he had first received files on Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan, he had seen that Booth may have experienced PTSD after Epps had fallen to his death, directly out of Booth's hands. So, in fact, they had not actually caught Howard Epps in the end.

Booth scowled at Sweets as Cam gave a curt nod. "But he was stopped, and I was saved. I think we owe it to Dr. Brennan to say that we accomplished the same feat for this case."

"There's no evidence left to examine, Cam," Hodgins murmured sorrowfully. "We all want to help Brennan, but we don't have anything to work with."

Cam couldn't argue against that statement. She turned to Booth and asked, "Have the B.O.L.O.s for Broadsky gotten anything?"

Booth shook his head. "Nothing."

Ever since Brennan had disappeared, he had nothing to do but wait for Broadsky to want to appear. It was slow form of torture. At first, he had been furious, wanting to capture the sniper and cut him into pieces. But as the hours and hours of finding nothing went by, Booth began to lose hope. If they didn't do anything to find Brennan soon, he would begin to doubt that he could ever see Bones alive again.

…

Booth sat on the couch in Brennan's office. In his hand was a bottle of scotch, gradually being drained into the bottomless spirits of Special Agent Seeley Booth. He didn't feel like he was a special agent. He couldn't even rescue the love of his life when she desperately needed it. Who was to say that she wasn't being tortured at this very moment? Booth winced as the image of Bones chained and battered flashed through his mind. He quickly washed the thought away with another swig of his bitter drink. But after years of being an army man, his mind easily conjured up another scenario of Bones crying out in pain, crying out for him.

Angela walked in and found him like that. His bottle was nearly half empty at that point. She eyed it wistfully when she sat next to him and muttered, "It's times like these I wish I could drink myself into oblivion with a bottle of boos." She gently laid a hand on her bulging abdomen and sighed.

Booth glanced at her, nodded sadly, and took in another mouthful of scotch.

"Parker and Rebecca are still hiding out somewhere in Wisconsin," he mumbled, filling the empty silence. He rubbed his tired face. "They're O.K. I just wish I could say the same for Bones."

Angela put a hand on Booth's arm, the arm once again reaching for the liquor. "Booth, you need to stop. You being depressed makes everyone else depressed; the squints look up to you. And this drinking—drinking like this doesn't help anyone."

"It helps me," Booth tried to grumble his lie, but Angela saw through it.

"No, it doesn't," she countered. "It makes you feel worse, and then you drink more.

"Now," she continued as she heaved herself to her feet, "are you going to be a gentleman and walk me to my car, or are you going to wallow here in self-pity?" Her eyes were playful as she tried to break him out of this terrible, hate-fueled mindset.

Booth managed a weak half smile as he wobbly rose to join her.

Angela stared at him with kind, empathetic eyes. "You're a good man, Seeley Booth. There's nothing you could have done to prevent Broadsky's attack. If it wasn't then, then he would've taken Brennan later. And if it wasn't her, then it would have been Parker." Booth winced at her words and began to turn away, but Angela turned him back towards her. "It's not your fault."

Booth contemplated her words for a moment before setting down the glass bottle. He opened his arms and held his friend in a hug. "Thanks, Ange."

"Anytime," she promised as she hugged him back.

The two friends began walking toward the parking lot.

"Why isn't Hodgins walking you out?" Booth asked.

"He's meeting me in the car. I told him I wanted a professional sniper to walk me out." Her eyes twinkled at him.

Booth gave a small grin back. "Thanks for rescuing me, Ange."

Angela shrugged. "I mainly did it for Brennan; she would never forgive me if I let you drink yourself to death. And I'm hoping that by the time she's back home, you'll be showered and not so disheveled."

Booth stared at her in amazement as they neared towards the Jeffersonian parking lot. "I wish I could be as optimistic about this as you are. Normally, I would be, and I would have to convince Bones to look at the bright side. But when she's not here . . . It's just so much harder to stay positive."

"I know," Angela murmured. "I miss her, too. Of course, I'm anxiously worried about her, but I can't let myself think about what could happen. Once your mind is set on her dying, why would you continue to look for her?"

Booth nodded, understanding what his friend was explaining to him. He again felt gratitude towards Angela for taking away the alcohol. If he had given up too early and it had lead to Brennan's demise, there would be no way anyone could rescue Booth.

The two walked out into the parking lot. As soon as they crossed the threshold of the exit, they stumbled across something at their feet.

Angela looked at it curiously as Booth, still feeling some of the side effects of the alcohol, unsteadily picked up the tan, document-sized envelope. He glanced at Angela's unsure expression before turning back to the papers. The outside simply read 'Booth.' He pulled out his pocket knife and shredded the seal.

Hesitantly, Booth shook the contents into his hand. Out of it spilled three photographs and a note.

The note invited Booth to a Gambler's Anonymous meeting held in an apartment ten minutes away from the Jeffersonian.

And the three photographs were all of Dr. Temperance Brennan, tied, beaten, bloodied, bruised, and gagged. Her eyes were only open for one of the photos, in which their expression showed her desperate fear.  
"Oh my God," Angela gasped as she saw the pictures of her best friend, looking sick. "What does that note say?"

Booth's face paled as fear pulsed through him. Accompanying the fear, a blinding, white-hot anger seared its way through his body as Booth imagined Broadsky doing this to his Bones. "It says that I need to attend a Gambler's Anonymous meeting tomorrow night at eight o'clock." And Booth would be there if it was the last thing he did. He wouldn't allow Bones to die on his behalf, nor let Broadsky escape the consequences of his actions without a great amount of pain, if not death itself.

**This depressed Booth really bugs me, but I figured that he deserves to be sad for a little bit.**

**Sorry, another cliff-hanger with a note from Broadsky. (I just seem to keep writing them in.) I promise that after this chapter there will be no more notes from Broadsky, which has multiple meanings . . . Haha **

** Reviewing will make the next chapter appear faster . . . Nope, I am not opposed to blackmailing for feedback ;)**


	10. Two Hours

**Haha Your responses pressured me into writing faster. ;) This chapter isn't the big action scene we're hoping for, so I decided to post it now so you guys had something to read before the next chapter. Still good, though, I hope? **

**Note: Don't look too deeply into Broadsky's logic. He's a sociopath, and, in my opinion, you can't ever rationalize serial killings.**

**Mmkay, Chapter 10—**

_(Bones POV)_

What was . . . Where am I . . .? A vague flash of light seeped through my eyelids. What is that . . .? It flashed again. I somehow managed to open my drooping eyelids. It was . . . All I see is the gun. There's a gun? Where's Booth? What's happening? Where am I? Another light flashed, blinding me. Where am I . . .

…

My head throbbed. It hadn't felt this way in some time, possibly since Heather Taffet used a stun gun against my neck. What had happened? I tried to retrace yesterday's events. I can't remember Booth taking me out for drinks, and this pain in my skull hurt a lot more than a hang-over.

I opened my eyes, only to squint them against the harsh sunlight piercing through the windows. Where was I? I looked around the room groggily, attempting to discern my surroundings. Had I fallen asleep in Angela's and Hodgins's new home? Nothing here seemed familiar. This apartment room, if it was an apartment, had peeling, off-white paint, a faded, cream-colored couch, and a wooden table, nothing more. I couldn't see past this living area, but I assumed there was more to this apartment.

As I struggled to move out of my uncomfortable slouch and into a sitting position, a sharper pain vibrated throughout my skull, as well as my left arm. I assumed that I had recently acquired a skull fracture. It seemed that the injuries in the flesh and radius of my left arm had been aggravated, also. Perhaps a mugging had occurred.

I looked down at my throbbing arm. Yellowing bruises were visible, indicating that the injuries had been healing, although no cast was now present. Only a make-shift cloth bandage wrapped around a small gash on the arm, a gash now crusted of dried blood. A mugging didn't seem to have caused all of these injuries. After all, I remember my arm having had persistent pain ever since . . . something happened. What had happened?

It wasn't until Broadsky's heavy boots walked into the room, having heard my shuffling and gasp of pain, that I recalled how I had arrived here. I cringed as the brutal memories came rushing back. My first instinct was to hide away and hope that he offered me no more pain, but something inside of me metaphorically sparked hatred. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of me being cowardice. If he was intent to hurt me or kill me, then I would force him to look me in the eye as he did so. I wasn't sure where this new furious intensity arose from, perhaps anger at what Broadsky was putting Booth through, but I didn't question it.

Broadsky looked down on me with a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "Good morning, Dr. Brennan. Did you sleep well?"

I stared at him evenly. "That's a difficult task when one has skull and radius fractures."

He gave a nod. "I'm sorry for that, as well as other things. But that needed to be done. I mean, I couldn't have gotten you here quietly if you had been conscious."

Fear clenched my stomach as his words resurrected my perspective on the pain Broadsky had inflicted, but I quickly forced the images back into the subconscious from which they had arisen. Booth would have braced through anything, and so would I.

I chose a new tactic and asked, "What are you sorry for, Broadsky?" Perhaps, if I distracted him long enough, I would be able to work my hands out of the ropes that bound them together in my lap. After that, if I was able to accomplish such a feat, I would render Broadsky unconscious and untie my feet before running. I'll admit that a positive outcome was extremely unlikely when Broadsky had superior strength, no restraining injuries, and a weapon at the ready.

It was as if Broadsky had read my thoughts, which was an irrational assumption. He pulled out a black handgun and held it loosely in his hand. He squatted down next to me, a gesture I found irritating; it was the same stance that I used when examining remains. I was not remains, and I did not intend on becoming some anytime soon.

"Because, Temperance," he explained in a grim tone, "I take no joy in taking someone's life. But Booth needs to understand that he is not God, and that he cannot enforce his morals."

"Isn't that what you're doing?" I questioned his flawed logic. "Your ideas may end your life."

"I doubt that I'll make it out of these events alive," he admitted with a curt nod, making my stomach drop even farther. There was nothing worse than a serial killer who had nothing to live for and was willing to die. "It's a price I must pay for the greater good. Full freedom can arise if we start by removing the minor restraints that are stopping it. But to help this plan take place, I'm going to need to remove the first restraint to my actions; I'm going to have to make sure that Seeley Booth knows that he is not invincible."

Somehow, more fear managed to find a way to enter into my body. His implications suggested something that I illogically found more painful than physical pain. It was an excruciating emotional pain. "Are you going to kill Booth?" I breathed the question I desperately needed to know.

To my brief relief, Broadsky shook his head. "No. How would Booth learn his lesson if he is a dead man? No, I'm going to have to kill you, Dr. Brennan."

…

_(Third Person—Booth POV)_

"Booth, just think about it," Cam begged her friend, desperately hoping that he might finally reconsider his ignorant plan of action. "Broadsky is setting you up. He's going to kill you both and find some way to get away." Her brown eyes stared into his as she pleaded with him to understand the danger he was igniting.

"Cam, I'll have the F.B.I. team with me," he answered, his tone calming. He found that ever since he'd been given a plan of action, he was no longer striving to pull his hair out by the handful. He just had to make it to eight o'clock tonight, and nothing would stop him. "I appreciate your concern, but we'll be O.K. I've done this before."

Cam wanted to shake him out of this secure fantasy. Couldn't he see that he was so close to death? That Brennan was so close to death? Booth's relaxed manner only increased Cam's irritability. "Seeley!" she exclaimed, exasperated. They had been going at this all day, only to end up at the start of the circle again. "You're going to die! Dr. Brennan will die! And if either one of you die, the other might as well be, too. You were both captured by Broadsky."

Booth rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, praying that Cam would finally just relent already. Couldn't she see that Bones's life was at stake? It was Bones! He was slowly shedding his placid exterior, not from Cam's request, but her thick headedness. "Cam, enough with the metaphors. This is the only way we're getting Bones out of there alive. There are no other options."

Cam was about to retort something, but she stopped herself. She bit her lip, closed her eyes, and took a deep, calming breath. When she opened her eyes again, she murmured, "Booth this case is just too personal for any of us, you especially. Maybe . . . maybe, you should put someone else as the head of this investigation."

Steel resided in Booth's eyes. "No. No way, Camille. We're so close. If we just do what that son of a bitch wants—"

"If we just do what that son of a bitch asks us to do, then we're all _dead_!" Cam fought him again. He glared at her as she struggled to regain composure. She looked at him, seeing a frantic man desperately grasping the shred of sanity he had left. Without this meeting with Broadsky tonight, he might as well check himself into the madhouse. For his sake, Cam relented, quietly pleading, "Don't let yourself die, Seeley. Don't you dare let Brennan die, either, but don't let the turn of events make you naïve. Lives are depending on you tonight."

Booth stared into her watering eyes and nodded. He wrapped his arms around his friend, pulling her into a hug, and murmured, "I promise, Camille."

She hugged him back, a few tears flowing around her small smile. "Don't call me Camille."

Booth grinned back. "Don't call me Seeley."

Their ritual saying eased them back into their typical personas. They needed to be strong for the others. Cam was the boss leading her team, and, as Angela said, the squints looked up to Booth.

"Cam," Booth said as they pulled apart, "if I don't make it . . ."

Booth's increased doubts caused their roles to reverse. Now it was Cam who stiffened her jaw pointedly, determined that she knew the outcome of tonight's events. "No. You've convinced me to root for you, so you damn well better lead us to victory." Her demeanor softened as she allowed a knowing smile to spread across her lips. "You always do."

The encouragement was what Booth needed. He offered a smile and a nod in return. "I'll see you tomorrow, Camille."

She touched his arm as he turned to leave. "Can't I do anything for you?" She felt terrible that her friends were forced through these dangerous situations as she silently waited on the sidelines. She'd already made Booth doubt his abilities as an agent, and felt that he deserved a last request, for Parker, for anyone, just in case.

"Yeah." He nodded and looked at her seriously. She stared at him with intense eyes, waiting. Slowly, he moved forward, cupped his hands to her ear, and stage whispered, "Don't call me Seeley."

She threw a glare at him as he quietly snickered and walked out of her office.

Booth's plans to quickly sharpen his marksmen skills at the shooting range before tonight's meeting were halted when he noticed a graying man barreling through the lab, aiming directly at Booth.

"Booth!" Max Keenan's threatening tone made Booth half raise his hands in a weak defense. Max came to a stop in front of Booth with a hard look in his eyes, the same look Bones got when she saw people manhandling evidence improperly. "When exactly were you planning on letting me know that my daughter has been taken by this Broadsky fellow?"

Booth knew that he was now walking on eggshells, so he replied cautiously, "I'm sorry, Max. We've been so wrapped up in trying to get her back—"

"Busy," Max scoffed. "I could have had her home by now if I had been informed earlier."

Max's implications transformed Booth's guilt into gratefulness. Bones would have eaten Booth alive if he had allowed her father to be thrown in prison again for her sake. Still, part of him wished he'd let Max do it, if only to get Bones home a couple of days sooner.

"Look, I'm sorry, Max," Booth apologized. "Have you been filled in on the details yet?"

Max nodded sharply. "Yes, that Sweets kid let it slip, and then I made him tell me the rest."

Booth nodded as he wondered if Sweets had a black eye or any other physical manifestation of Max's anger to show.

"Can I join you tonight when you get her?" Max asked him with false hope, fully expecting Booth's answer.

Booth knew that protocol wouldn't allow a civilian, nor an accused murderer, to join the professionals at the scene. He also feared that Max's temper might increase upon seeing Broadsky, forcing Booth to have to throw Max in jail, yet again. "Uh, there's a protocol we've got to follow, Max—"

Max gripped Booth's shoulders and looked at him with desperate eyes, cutting off Booth's improvised speech. "You make sure my little girl makes it home O.K."

Booth nodded at Bones's father, too sleep deprived and anxious to realize Max's intentions. "I will."

Max accepted his promise. "I'll hold you to your word." Turning on his heel, Max walked off, back to his office.

Booth sighed shakily and fingered the poker chip he constantly carried in his pocket. The ridged edges soothed his shaking fingertips as he moved the pads of his fingers across it.

He would save Bones, or he would die trying. Booth just hoped that his efforts would preserve her life, or, better yet, both of their lives.

He glanced at his watch. It was now six o'clock. Two more hours to dread. Two more hours to go.

**Sorry for the lack of action. I wanted to describe how Brennan's absence was affecting the characters, Booth especially. I promise to write the next chapter and post it soon, this week-end at the latest. (My spring break ends on Tuesday, leaving me with fewer opportunities to write.)**

**Reviews encourage quicker updates, though! ;)**


	11. The Gamblers Anonomyous Meeting

**As always, I have greatly appreciated all of the feedback I have received from this story. I hope that you've enjoyed it as I have. :) **

**Spoilers for The Man in the Cell.**

**Here's my longest, most action-packed chapter yet, Chapter 11—**

_(Third Person POV-Brennan)_

Broadsky flipped open his golden pocket watch and grinned to himself. The clock was merely five minutes away from eight o'clock now, a short period to wait after all of the planning he had put in to this.

He glanced at Dr. Brennan, a small amount of pity trickling through him as he saw the bleeding wounds that he had inflicted, but he quickly shut those feelings out. There was no need for any pity. After all, he was serving his fellow members of society by ridding the world of Special Agent Seeley Booth. With the F.B.I. agent out of the picture, Broadsky would have better chances of success when he continued to rid the world of the terribly cruel individuals. Booth was the only one who had the sniper skills and personal knowledge to ever have a true chance at catching Broadsky, as long as Broadsky was careful. Booth was a liability issue, and, in Broadsky's mind, he needed to be taken out.

Broadsky's thoughts roamed, thinking of the near future. How would Dr. Brennan react when she realized that Booth would be killed? Broadsky did not care to lie, nor to tell the truth, but after researching Brennan and Booth's relationship, he concluded that Booth would do anything to save her, including rescue the damsel from the grips of a sniper. And Brennan would do anything to take care of herself and keep Booth out of harm's way, including being willing to take a bullet for her partner, if it came down to it. As a result, Broadsky devised the plan to kidnap Brennan and then convince her that Booth was not in danger of death's grips.

Broadsky smiled to himself, happy this had miraculously turned out as he had originally hoped. He glanced again at his pocket watch. Three more minutes.

Brennan's increasing anxiety heightened as Broadsky pulled out his pocket watch another time. His looks of happiness could not signal anything positive.

Brennan had fought back over the course of the past couple of days, trying to escape, but only ended up back in the sniper's grasp. She had multiple bruises to show for it.

But all of today, Brennan had controlled herself into acting in compliance. She would attempt to fool him into believing that she would agree to anything if he spared Booth's life. Although she would fight to allow Booth to stray away from Death's cliffs, she was physically incapable of not fighting back.

She had subtly fought her way out of the binds on her wrists, knowing that her time to escape was running close to empty. She restrained her moan of relief as the ropes loosened. If given a moment of opportunity, she only had to jump up, reach for the gun protruding from the back of Broadsky's belt, and then attack. If only he would turn away.

A muffled, distance sound caught Broadsky's attention. He grinned again, pulling out his pocket watch. The hands on the clock signaled seven fifty-eight, two minutes of waiting left. He knew that Booth wouldn't be late; it was his love and partner's life in the balance.

Broadsky had grown distracted by the commotion and time, as if by Brennan's hopeful thoughts. She knew this would be the only chance she would receive, so she knew to use it wisely. As he was turned, she followed through with her plan. Brennan leaped to her feet, shrugging off her ropes as she did so. She was still incapable of fully functioning her left arm and a little woozy from her head injury, but she put every amount of energy and effort she had left into this attack. She managed to snatch the black gun out of the back of Broadsky's belt, but that was about as far as she was able to manage.

Broadsky had heard her moving, so he was already slightly turning as she sprang at him. He realized her intentions quickly, his body reacting just as her hands closed around the barrel of the gun. Broadsky shoved her back as he reached for the weapon, but he only managed to sway her. She was fueled on determination.

Broadsky's eyes narrowed. No. He had waited too long for this moment; he would not allow anything or anyone to interfere. He immediately sprang at the gun before Brennan was able to raise it to aim. He managed to pull it into his own hands, but Brennan's hold did not release as he gripped it. She glared at him with hate-filled eyes as she poorly wrestled the man who had the upper hand.

With a fast punch to her already bruised, broken, and swollen arm, Brennan cried out in pain, her hands releasing the gun of their own accord to nurse the painful injury.

Broadsky aimed the gun at her as she grimaced, trying to fight the threatening tears. He glanced at the pocket watch that had shattered against the floor. Their scuffle caused it to become petrified, continuously reading seven fifty-nine

Broadsky looked away, bottling a rising anger. He had lost the watch that he had carried with him for many years, all through his sniper duties when he was alone in the woods, only knowing the time. "Come on," he growled at her, "it's time."

Brennan fought to hide her winces as he grabbed her arm and picked up a large section of rope. Her feet were still restrained by their binds, so Broadsky only retied her hands together. He then wrapped the new section of rope around her waist, knotting it tightly.

Perhaps then would have been another opportunity to strike again, but Brennan had nearly no energy left. Her head was pounding and she could feel the swelling in her left arm increase. She was only able to tiredly watch as Broadsky tied her waist with rope and strung it through a metal loop in the ceiling.

…

_(Third Person POV—Booth)_

Booth had been suited into his bullet-proof vest. It was now exactly eight o'clock, time to meet Broadsky. He glanced at his F.B.I. backup team giving a nod to indicate that it was time.

The team looked at his worried, exhausted features. It was obvious that he had not received a decent amount of sleep in awhile. Agent Lewis, an agent who had worked on a few cases with Booth, gave him a concerned look and asked, "Are you sure you don't want to try to take him out now, Booth? It may be safer."

Booth glanced up towards the building. The entire complex had been emptied out a week ago. When the F.B.I. had questioned them about it yesterday, the attendants claimed to have been notified that the entire building was being fumigated for termites for the next two weeks.

When they had directed a heat sensor at the building, it had been made apparent that only two bodies remained in the vacated complex.

Broadsky had the mind of a sniper, so he knew protocols well. He had chosen a building that had nothing but a park facing it so that there could be no snipers in a building across the street. As a result, the F.B.I. team was forced to remain grounded, unable to securely take out their opponent.

Booth shook his head at his comrade. "Without a clear shot, it's too dangerous. I'll go in and signal when to rush in and take a shot."

Booth opened up the back of the black surveillance van and got out. The S.W.A.T. team would be nearby in the building, but everyone besides Booth had been ordered to stay at a safe distance; they wouldn't take any risky chances.

Booth raised his hands to close the doors, but stopped to look directly at the team. Emphasizing each word with a hard look, he ordered, "No one goes in until I give the word, got it? Not a single person fires without my command. Dr. Brennan's life is at stake, and we are not going to risk it."

He waited until everyone had muttered a "yes, sir" before slamming the doors and walking up into the apartment building. The S.W.A.T. team followed Booth in through the building, their feet only sounding a quiet hush when compared to Booth's sniper-trained footsteps. The team had been notified of his commands and would be forced to wait to infiltrate until Booth gave the word or shots fired.

"What the hell?" a voice muttered in his ear through the earpiece.

Booth wanted to question it, but it was already eight-oh-three. He was worried that Broadsky might have become impatient and cut Brennan's life short.

Booth gave a nod at the S.W.A.T. team, braced himself, and then turned to the door that they had sensed people to be in. He was unsure of whether to knock or burst the door down with all of his strength. To compensate, he grasped the knob of the door and flew the door open silently, his gun drawn to the unexpected.

_BONES_, his thoughts screamed in happiness. Seeing her, despite the blood and bruises that covered her, relieved a pressure that he didn't realize was there until it had been removed.

But his celebration was short-lived. She somehow was suspended outside of a large window in the air, her limbs tied with rope and her mouth gagged with cloth. A rope was wrapped around her waist and snaked its way through the window to where Broadsky held the rope in his hands. Broadsky merely stood there in a pair of black pants, a dark t-shirt, and hunter's boots. He had the cord wrapped around his hands, but was still managing to grasp a gun that pointed directly at Booth's head.

This had been what the F.B.I. team saw. A woman, Dr. Brennan, was being dangled from a window.

Booth's gun was aimed at Broadsky's heart as he realized why Broadsky held his partner dangerously suspended in the air. If he killed Broadsky . . . Booth clenched his teeth together at the severity of the situation. If Broadsky died, so would Brennan. The rope would be released from his grasp before anyone could catch her.

"Brennan's not apart of this," Booth growled menacingly. "Let her go!"

Broadsky's face flickered into a grin, anticipating the phrase. Part of the rope slid through his grasp, allowing Brennan's body to jerk in response to the minor fall. Booth jumped, unsuspecting the move, but stopped when the rope was released no further.

Broadsky chuckled. "You should be careful of what you say, Booth." He eyed Booth's trained gun. "And what you do."

Booth glared and held the gun tighter. "What is it you want from her, Broadsky? It was always just you and me."

Broadsky stared back. "I warned you, Booth. I'm not to blame if you didn't listen."

Booth was unsure of what he done to anger Broadsky since their last encounter in Booth's apartment. Broadsky realized this and continued his spiel. "You continued to investigate the murders. Regina Hoffman and Bernard Ruiz had committed many terrible crimes in their life, Booth. If I didn't end their lives, they would ever stop hurting others. I did this country a favor."

Booth recognized the names to be two victims found a month ago. Indeed, they had both been suspected of murders, but never convicted. No other evidence had been about the suspected criminals, other than their identities and causes of death. Broadsky had never been suspected of ending their lives because they had both died from a strangling. Booth eyed Broadsky, annoyed that Broadsky had hidden tallies that Booth didn't know about. "What? You're done with just shooting people now?"

Broadsky stared calmly at Booth's intimating glare. In his hands, he twirled the rope dangerously, reminding Booth that he was in charge of their meeting. "I felt a need to broaden my horizons." In reality, although he would never admit to it, Broadsky wanted to avoid being blamed for the murders. He was afraid that Booth would eventually catch him one day. This, paired with Booth's indirect role in Paula Ashwaldt's suicide, had caused Broadsky to pass the point of no return and target Booth personally.

Booth's fingers itched to pull the trigger on his gun, not to kill a man, but to save the lives of those he loved. But he knew that if he did so, he would lose Bones all the same. Booth glowered at the sniper. "If you don't release Doctor Brennan safely to the F.B.I., then you'll be leaving in a body bag, Broadsky."

Broadsky was about to retort and add to their bickering, but Brennan caught their attention. She had somehow managed to remove the gag from her mouth and able to speak. "Booth! It's essential that you leave immediately!" she shouted frantically at him in her scientist vocabulary, despite the fact that she was perilously dangling over one hundred and twenty-six feet of empty air. "He's going to kill me, no matter what you do!"

"Bones, I'm not leaving you," Booth insisted as Broadsky growled at her to keep her mouth shut.

It was odd that Brennan had waited her entire life for someone, anyone, to remain a constant in her life. She had been abandoned too many times, more than anyone ever deserved. Now that she had finally regained her family, friends, and a love, she was being forced to let them leave her side again. It angered Booth, and he knew of nothing that would keep him away from her.

"Please!" she begged. She didn't want Booth to leave, not for the world, but she would rather spare his heart than her own. Booth had a son to live for. No one would benefit from witnessing her death. She knew that the odds were not in her favor, but she fought to make Booth leave anyways. He didn't deserve this. "You need to be with Parker."

Broadsky angled his body towards her while his gun remained aimed at Booth's skull. He had planned this event for many weeks now, and her words were never scheduled. "Be quiet!" he attempted to hush the woman who spoke her mind under all circumstances. His orders went ignored as Booth and Brennan fought internal conflicts of their own.

Booth shook his head. "This is a little more of a pressing matter right now, Bones."

"Booth!" she began to try again.

Broadsky growled and released a large section of rope that was left in his hands, slipping though his grasp to the point where he was supporting Brennan's life by the ends of the cord.

Brennan jerked violently as she was lowered a couple of feet further. She gasped, but managed to restrain any shrieks.

"Bones!" Booth called out taking a step forward. He paused his movements when Brennan stopped hers. From the corner of his eye, Booth noticed the gun in Broadsky's hand was pointing directly at Booth's head, a warning of the consequences of moving forward. Booth clenched his jaw, his own gun's barrel continuing to stare right back at the enemy, when he noticed the limited amount of rope left in Broadsky's hands.

Booth cursed himself for not shooting Broadsky sooner. Maybe if he had, then he would have had time to catch Brennan too. But the small amount of rope left was an indicator that any chances at catching her safely were too slim to risk now.

Booth now understood the stupid use of the title of the meeting, that it was a Gamblers Anonymous meeting. He would gave to gamble that he could save Brennan if he wanted to take out Broadsky.

Broadsky partially masked the pleasure he felt at seeing Booth's reactions. "We could have worked together, Booth. We could have made this world a hell of a lot better than it is."

Booth shook his head with a hard look in his eyes. "Jacob, you need to look at your own actions. You're becoming one of the people that you've been hunting down."

"I thought you, of all people, would have understood, Booth," Broadsky muttered, shaking his head disappointedly. "You were one to participate in serving this nation, too. That's what I've been doing now."

"Jake, look at yourself!" Booth insisted in frustration. "You're nothing better than those other criminals before you. You're harming a forensic anthropologist who devoted her life to helping others! How does that help people?"

Broadsky shook his head. "No, Seeley. Stopping you two will save many others." He smirked to mask his annoyance that Booth's words had gotten to him. "And now I'm done talking. You'll be out of the equation soon enough."

"Do you want us to step in, Booth?" a worried voice asked Booth through his earpiece.

"No," Booth murmured.

Broadsky smiled and cocked his gun. "Drop your weapon, Booth."

"We're coming in," the voice insisted.

"No," Booth denied both men. He was calling his bluff. Broadsky had to know that his life was a stake, and that to carry on with his work, he would need to stay alive.

"A five second warning, then?" Broadsky suggested with a cocked eyebrow. "I find that it eases the conscience to give warnings."

Booth's hands hesitated to pull an already cocked gun as the man in his ear insisted they take out Broadsky.

"Five," Broadsky began.

No. They couldn't take out Broadsky. Booth wouldn't let Brennan die. He couldn't allow that. He needed to have the winning hand of cards.

"Four."

But how could he save her life if he was dead himself?

"Three."

Maybe if he just ran, flat out sprinted to her, he could reach her.

"Two."

How could he be asked to gamble her life like this?

"One."

Two deafening shots rang out as soon as the last syllable of 'one' sounded.

Booth felt a bullet skim past his bicep, but never find purchase. It had merely grazed him and lodged into the wall behind him, for the shooter had been unable to make a clear shot when he held a bullet in the concaves of his chest.

Broadsky, with a look of astonishment branded into his features, watched his shirt as it began to absorb the pooling blood. His gun clattered to the ground as he gripped his bloodied chest.

Everything after that seemed to step out of slow motion and into fast-paced action. In the same moment that Broadsky released his weapon, the hand supporting Brennan's life-line began to slip. The rest of the rope ran through his fingers and began edging towards the window to lead Brennan to her certain demise.

Booth had anticipated this reaction, and he leaped forward as soon as he recovered from the shock of the firings.

The rope was falling faster now, Brennan's anxious face dropping out of sight. Booth sprang forward and caught the edge of the rope, suspending Bones in the air for a little longer.

Booth began hoisting the rope towards him when Brennan felt it loosen around her waist. She looked down and saw that the knot that Broadsky had tied around her was now unraveling. Her tied hands could only hold the rope, not her body weight.

"Booth," she called frantically. "The rope is unraveling!"

Booth looked at the knot and saw that it had nearly come undone. He pulled her up faster, gritting his teeth at the effort. But the excess pulling at the knot only made it unwind faster.

Booth began reaching for his partner, Brennan just in reach. Then all at once, the knot straightened out completely. With a shriek, Bones began to fall.

Booth called out for her in the most desperate panic he had ever felt. He shot out his arms to save her within the same second. He managed to barely catch her, holding onto her bound hands alone.

Brennan's arm protested the pressure on the broken bone, but in this adrenaline hazed moment, she felt none of the pain.

Booth held onto her hands, trying to reach for a better grip to pull her up. His face exemplified the effort he felt at the dead weight he was supporting. Brennan's eyes began to stream at the sheer terror she felt.

Booth cursed himself as he was unable to pull her up without dropping her hands. It reminded him too well of when he was forced to hold Howard Epps over the railing of Brennan's apartment. He recalled watching him fall to his death and then die against the pavement. His mind cruelly conjured up the same image, but of Brennan falling to her death.

'_NO_,' Booth thought in a new adrenaline rush. He wouldn't, couldn't let Brennan experience the same fate. She needed to live.

"Booth," Brennan called out weakly, trying to get out her last words.

"We can do this, Bones," Booth encouraged her, as well as himself. "We've done a lot of things. We can do this, too."

Brennan looked up with a doubt, but transformed it into hope. Even if her partner was wrong, it would be nice to believe his words for the last portion of her life.

Booth counted to three under his breath before using every bit of strength he had to rescue his Bones. He pulled as she struggled to push herself against the wall, to help climb back through the window.

His arms screamed to rest, that he could take a break and the pull longer, but he ignored it. He pushed through the ache and pulled Brennan up.

In a triumphant haze, he managed to pull her up enough to place his hands underneath her arms and carry her the rest of the way through the window.

The couple fell backwards into the room now filled with F.B.I. and S.W.A.T. teams. Booth held Brennan on top of him, both too tired and shocked to move, as he kissing every portion of Bones he could reach. She sobbed in hysterics as he cradled her against him.

"Shh," he murmured drowsily. "You're O.K. You're O.K." His coo tried to convince himself just as much as Bones that she had been saved, that she was alive and here in his arms.

He glanced at to the left of them where a Broadsky's body laid lifelessly. Jacob was the fifty-sixth life he had taken. Guilt began to rise up inside of him, and he felt every bit of it.

He held Brennan tighter in his arms, grateful that he wasn't forced into cradling a corpse that night.

**I know that the show never mentioned Broadsky having a pocket watch, but I felt that he needed something more to his character. (Random side note for all you English lovers out there-The watch also symbolizes the time left in his life. It never reaches the time he planned for the event, foreshadowing that the plan will not turn out as he had planned, that his death would occur. [He did realize it was a possibility, but he didn't believe it could actually take place.]) **

**So I'm going to write the epilogue next, in which Max's part in this will be said, and then it's a wrap.**

**Please tell me how you've liked it, dislike it, loved it, hated it, or if there's anything you want me to clear up before the story ends. All responses are extremely inspiring to me. :)**


	12. Epilogue: Reliable Effects

**I am so grateful for all of you who have stuck with me through this to the end. Thank you so much for every story and author alert and also for every story and author favorite. I greatly appreciated every single review—it seems you are all in favor of my story. ;)**

**P.S. I stole a line from The Harbingers in the Fountain for this chapter . . .**

**Without any other comments from this awe-stricken, grateful author, here is the Epilogue—**

_(Third Person POV)_

When they had regained enough energy to move, Booth supported the majority of Brennan's weight by wrapping his arm around her, careful of her damaged arm. They remained in shock of what they had just witnessed. They spoke only by clinging to the other, silently thanking God for delivering their love to them still breathing.

Booth walked Brennan to the elevator and rode down with her. He dared a glance in her direction to find her intently staring at the floor, contemplating in a daze. Booth could have walked her into Hell, and she wouldn't have noticed.

The couple floated to the parking lot. Paramedics ambushed the two as soon as they stepped a foot onto the pavement. Booth declined their assistance, insisting that Bones be treated; he would just get a couple of stitches for his arm at the hospital. Brennan had never been one to willingly submit to a hospital's assistance, but, by that time, the shock began to subside so that the pain her arm could emerge.

The paramedics already had Bones hooked up to an IV drip and laid upon the gurney when Booth began climbing into the ambulance. As he did so, he was stopped by Agent Lewis.

"Agent Booth?" Lewis asked. Booth turned around to meet the eyes of his colleague. Lewis suppressed his grimace as he noticed the extent of the exhaustion that was overpowering Booth. Underneath his eyelids, Booth carried dark circles that had darkened over the past week. Now that Brennan had been found, Booth's adrenaline fled his system. He now looked very much like a walking corpse, unaware of his surroundings.

"Yes?" Booth answered in a muddled tone.

"We found someone trying to take a shot at Broadsky from the apartment next door to the one you three were in," Lewis informed. "Found this in his hands." Lewis held up a sniper rifle as he pulled a handcuffed and bashful Max into view.

"Dad?" Brennan mumbled quietly, making a large effort to raise her head for a better view of her father.

The paramedics gently pushed her back down, urging her to rest. They turned to Booth and reminded, "We really need to get going."

Booth gave a nod, a little bit of life returning to his features as he remembered that they were not completely out of the woods yet.

"What would you like us to do with him?" Lewis questioned hurriedly. He had known enough about Booth and Brennan's partnership to realize that if he didn't get any orders from Booth now, he would not hear them for awhile. Booth would tend to Bones and Bones alone in their moments of distress, with the exception of his son Parker.

Booth looked into Max's eyes. Max stared back with the eyes of a loving father, a father who would do anything to protect his family, just like Booth. There was no chance that Max would go onto a killing spree, nor would Booth. They had both been trying to protect their family. "Could we pretend we had never seen him?" Booth murmured quietly to Lewis. He didn't want to strip Brennan of a family member right after this crisis.

Lewis hesitated with a look of discomfort. "Well, that's against protocol . . ." As Lewis stared into Booth's eyes, he saw the distress of the week reflecting back at him. Booth was a good man with good judgment; if Booth believed that Max should go off scot-free, then Lewis wouldn't doubt him, no matter the protocols.

Lewis gave a nod as he removed the handcuffs from Max's wrists. "Yes, sir."

Max grinned and climbed into the back of the ambulance. He reached for gently Brennan's free but damaged hand, the one not being cradled by Booth.

Lewis walked off as the ambulance doors slammed shut.

Booth turned to Brennan, happy to see her smiling contently as her eyes focused on something far away.

"The morphine's kicking in," a paramedic spoke. "She should be out fairly soon."

Max smiled at his daughter, also grateful to see her alive.

Brennan's focus on the world began to blur as the drugs took their effects. "Booth . . ." she mumbled.

"Yeah, Bones?" he asked, leaning closer to hear her soft words better.

"Thank you . . ." her words were nearly unintelligible as she drifted off into her opiate-induced slumber.

"Anytime, Bones," he whispered, silently rejoicing in the fact that he could speak to his Bones, that he could say her name without feeling that sharp, merciless pain of losing a love. He thanked God for being given the opportunity to celebrate, rather than the trial to grieve.

…

[Two Days Later]

They hadn't spoken much since the incident, and, even then, none of it had been about the crisis. During the two days that Brennan had laid in the hospital, she had been too drugged to mutter many coherent sentences, and even those drug-induced words had vague meanings behind them. She had woken up a few times from her slumber in a state of panic, but Booth had been able to quickly calm her.

Booth sat quietly beside her bed, drifting in and out of an uncomfortable sleep as she did. As he remained awake on some nights, Booth lied to himself that Brennan simply wasn't awake enough to think things through logically and rationally; he pretended that she wasn't coherent enough to tackle the conversation of what had happened with Broadsky yet. He buried the fact that it was himself who was afraid to approach the subject.

Two days had been their hospital stay, after which Angela orchestrated a celebration of all of their friends at the local bar. Brennan had grumbled in annoyance that she was unable to consume alcohol due to the medication she was on, but she had celebrated with her friends nonetheless. Booth stood beside her and smiled. He was continuing to hide the feelings that haunted him during the past three.

After the party ended with many hugs and smiles, some genuine smiles and some not, Brennan and Booth walked into Brennan's apartment, both in need of a relaxing rest in a proper bed.

Brennan glanced at Booth. He had been quiet for the most part ever since they had reunited. During the car ride home from the party, Booth had spoken maybe three words; it was a sign that Brennan had learned which signaled that the person was thinking of something.

Booth noticed her look at him and smiled for her benefit. "How do you feel?"

Brennan shrugged. She had been asked that too many times to count in the past three days that the words had lost their meaning. "These drugs are making it hard to concentrate. I imagine that this is how people of average intelligence must feel all the time."

He half smiled at her words. "How's your arm?" he murmured as he lead her to their bedroom.

Brennan shrugged again, not caring for the answer. They sat down beside each other on the bed, and Booth played absentmindedly with their intertwined fingers. Brennan waited for him to look up at her, but he was too lost in his own thoughts. She finally became impatient and called his name. Still, he didn't respond. She took her hand from his grasp, the only hand she could truly move, and placed it underneath Booth's chin. She tilted his head up so that his eyes met hers. "What's wrong, Booth?"

Booth didn't want to burden her with his troubles after everything. All the torture she had been put through was his fault. He would continue to wallow in silence. He gave her a brave smile and lied, "Nothing."

She pulled her hand back and cocked her head. "Booth, we've known each other for the better part of eight years. I think that has given me some perspective to know whether or not you are lying. Right now, I think you are lying."

Booth gave her a half smile, appreciating her always logical mind. Nonetheless, he refused to answer her honestly. "It's nothing, Bones. Hey, why don't we just take a nap? I'm still pretty tired." He put his arms behind himself and began pulling his way into a laying position near the pillows.

Brennan outstretched her arm and stopped him. "Booth, you're the one who always told me that being honest creates better relationships. Shouldn't we follow that advice now?"

Booth began kicking off his shoes as he avoided her eyesight, trying to find his way out of this maze of a conversation. He didn't want approach it, not now and not ever. What lie could he feed her that would satisfy her curiosity?

Brennan saw him begin to fall back into his thoughts so she quickly fished him out before he became unresponsive. "Booth, please just say—"

"Just leave it alone, Bones," he snapped. He had still been unable to think of an appropriate response when his mouth answered without consulting his brain.

The steel tone in Booth's voice made Brennan's line of eyesight drop to the bed's comforter. "Alright," she murmured as she began to pull herself farther onto the bed.

Booth instantly kicked himself for snapping at her. She deserved that even less than the truth. He sighed and apologetically placed his hand on her arm. She didn't wince or pull away like she might have to any other, but she didn't lean towards the hand either. "I'm sorry, Bones," he murmured. "My nerves are just fried from this week."

She nodded but still didn't look towards him.

Booth sighed again and pushed himself closer to her. "Would you forgive me if I told you what's been bothering me?"

Brennan's blue eyes looked towards his chocolate brown ones. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I pushed you too far on something you're unwilling to talk about."

Booth noticed the defense trapped behind her eyes, a defense set up to wait for him to turn away from her. His heart melted at the sight, causing him to wrap his arms around her and kiss her forehead. Bones tentatively wrap her good arm around his torso and moved closer to his resting body. She leaned her head on his muscled chest, a chest sheathed in a blue cotton t-shirt. Booth stroked his hand though her auburn hair, thanking God for the millionth time that he was able to hold his Bones against him like this again.

"I've . . ." Booth hesitated to break the dam holding back his guilt and pain. He shrugged off the resistance, knowing that this would be for the best in the long run. "I've just been thinking a lot about what happened with Broadsky."

"That's understandable," Brennan answered, unable to see why he would want to keep this from her. "I have, too. Do you think that's bad?"

"No, I don't," he answered. He thought about what to say concerning his feelings to his partner. She understood the feelings well, but could never quite grasp the phrases to convey them. "I've been feeling the guilt that accompanies murder."

Brennan raised her head to look into his eyes. "I would not classify killing Broadsky as murder, Booth. You were merely acting in self-defense."

Booth considered her words as he stroked her hair. "Do you remember what you told me a while ago? That we all share in someone's death?" Brennan nodded, indicating for him to continue. "It's like that. But when you're the one to end it, to cut their final string of life, I think you share a larger load of the pain of their death a little more than others do."

Brennan rested her head on his chest again, silently thinking over the concept. "I assume that I agree with that statement," she whispered. "I remember feeling that way when I shot Gil Lappin." Brennan recalled watching Howard Epps's partner lifelessly sink to the ground, blood spurting from his mouth, as well as the wound she had inflicted. She cringed from the memory as some of the residing guilt resurfaced.

Booth nodded and held her closer to his body. "It's like that. And I've taken so many lives . . . and I knew Broadsky personally." The shame and guilt that Booth felt was audible in his voice.

"It'll get better," she promised. She was unable to give him any advice of her own, so she resorted to repeating the ones Booth had told her the night she had killed Gil.

Booth half smiled, happy for her comfort. "Thanks, Bones. I think it's just going to need some time."

Brennan nodded, remembering what it had been like to wait for the guilt to subside after she had stripped someone of their life. "We'll all be here for you, Booth. You were here for me when I needed you most, and I'll be here for you now. Figuratively and physically."

He kissed her lips and then settled back against the pillows. "Thank you. That's exactly what I need: _You_."

Brennan gave a small smile but then began contemplating what Booth had said; his words had resurfaced the night of Broadsky's death, representing memories that had been suppressed for an hour or two. She recalled watching Booth from the window as she remained restrained from fighting for her life. The fact that she had been powerless scared her more than anything else about the situation. She had been powerless to take Broadsky down, to save herself, to save Booth's life. She didn't know if she would have been able to handle dangling motionlessly as her love and partner fell to the ground in the same manner that Gil Lappin had.

Booth felt her body tense and grow quiet against him. He leaned towards her and asked, "How are you holding up?"

She met his concerned chocolate eyes. "I've been having dreams about it, Booth. I see him tying me up and stringing me to the ceiling again and again. Each time . . . each time he lets me fall when you never come." Her voice hiccupped at the end of her statement as her eyes filled with tears. She struggled to never let them fall. They were irrational and unnecessary; the twisted recollections were only a projection of the mind's subconscious. The images couldn't actually hurt her, nor were they reality. All the same, the fear of death rose up inside of her chest each time the images were projected.

Booth murmured that it was O.K. as he rubbed her back soothingly. He hated that these fears of abandonment constantly haunted her. He hated that he had been powerless when Broadsky had taken Bones. He hated so much of this situation, but he knew that all he could offer for reconcilement were soothing words to Bones. "Don't ever think that I won't save you, Temperance. If there's anything you can count on, it's that; I will always be there for you."

She looked up at him and saw the sincerity in his eyes. What he was saying had been true. He had saved her when Kenton kidnapped her. He had helped save her when Heather Taffet buried her alive. He had saved her from dangerous criminals, from armed gunmen. And every time she had woken up at the hospital, terrified from the fresh nightmares, she had woken up to Booth sitting beside her.

"Didn't you just promise that you'd be here for me?" he reminded her. "That promise goes both ways, Bones."

She smiled at his words, a true smile emerging for what felt like the first time in weeks.

He grinned back at her smile as it warmed his scarred heart. He held out his pinky, waiting for her to extend her own. Brennan's smile grew larger as she stuck out her pinky and wrapped it around Booth's.

"Pinky promise," he whispered in a playful tone.

She quietly laughed, happy that he was enjoying himself. It had been too long since he had been in such an uplifted mood. "Pinky promise," she echoed back to him.

"Now," Booth spoke in his ever-husky, ever-playful tone. "Who's up for some apple pie?"

**This had a few factors that were like my other story "The Confessions in the Chapel", but the elements fit this epilogue well.**

**I'm pretty sad now that the story's over. I guess I better start a new story so I will get out of review withdrawal. Haha Perhaps you could be so generous as to sustain my habit for a little while longer by reviewing? ;)**

**I am working on a new story for Bones, although I have no idea when I'll be posting it. I'm assuming some time this summer during all of my new-found free time.**

**Thanks so much again for reading, and I appreciate all reviews, alerts, and PMs!**

_**~Alice**_


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